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323 How it All Came Round. 20 

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383 Lifeof Gibbon IC 

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392 Lifeof Milton 10 

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399 John Holdsworth 20 

400 Glen of the Echoes 15 

401 Life of Johnson 10 

402 How he Reached the 

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403 Poems, by E. A. Poe 20 

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405 Life of J. G. Blaine 20 

406 Pole on Whist 15 

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417 Don Quixote 

418 " I Say No," by Collhis. 

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420 A Broken Wedding-Ring 20 

421 Aurora Leigh 20 

422 Cavendish Card Essays. . 15 

423 Repented at Leisure 20 

424 Life of Cowper, Smith... 10 

425 Self-Help, by Smiles 25 

426 Narrative of A. Gordon 

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427 Life of Grover Cleveland 20 

428 Robinson Crusoe 25 

429 Called Back, by Conway. 15 

430 Bums' Poems 20 

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434 Typhaines Abbey 25 

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436 The Light of Asia 20 

437 Tales of Two Idle Ap- 

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440 History of the Mormons. 15 

441 Home as Found 20 

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464 Two years before the 

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465 Earl's Atonement 20 

406 Under the Will, by Hay . 10 

467 Prairie, by Cooper 20 

468 The Count of Talavera. . 20 

469 Chase, by Lermina 20 

470 Vif;, by A. Benrlmo 15 

471 Pioneer, by Cooper 25 

472 Indian Song of Songs.... 10 



A Woman's Temptation. 20 
iCHotb 



473 Christmas Stories 20 

474 * "^ — • "■ 
475 

476 
477 
478 
479 
480 



Sheep in Wolfs CHothinf . 20 
Love Works Wonders,... 20 

A Week in Killarney 10 

Tartarin of Tarascon.... 30 
Mrs. Browning's Poems. 35 
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toi Through the Lookiiig- 
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482 Longfellow's Poems 20 

483 TheChUd Hunters 15 

484 The Two Admirals 2« 

485 My Roses, by French ... 26 

486 History of the French 

Revolution. Vol. I.... 25 

486 History of the French 

Revolution. Vol. II.,. 25 

487 Moore's Poems 40 

488 Water Witch 20 

489 Bride of Lammermoor. . . 20 

490 Black Dwarf 10 

491 Red Rover 20 

492 Castle Dangerous 15 

493 Legend of Montrose 15 

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495 Surgeon's Daughter 10 

496 Woman's Trials 20 

497 Sesame and Lilies 10 

498 Dryden's Pncn.s 30 

499 Heart of Mit. -luthian 30 

500 Diamond Necklace 15 

501 The Pilot, by Cooper.... 20 

502 Waverley, by Scott 20 

503 Chartism, by Carlyle.... 20 

504 Fortunes of Nigel 30 

505 Crown of WildDlivea.... 10 

506 Wmg_and'Wing 20 

507 The Two Wives 15 

508 Sartor Re sartus 20 

509 PeverU of the Peak 30 

510 Ethics of the Dust 10 

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521 Seven Lamps of Archi- 

tecture 20 

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530 In Durance VUe 10 

531 Keats's Poems 25 

532 Afloat and Ashore 25 

533 Principles and Fallacies 

of Socialism 15 

534 Papa's Own Girl SO 

535 Studies in Civil Service. . 15 

536 Scott's Poems 40 

537 Lectures on Architecture 

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538 The Ways of Providence, 

by Arthur 15 

539 Miles Wallingford, by J. 

F. Cooper 20 

540 Works of Virgil 25 

541 Heroes & Hero Worship, 

byCarlyle 20 

542 Stones of Venice, by Rus- 

kin, 3 vols., each 2f 

543 TheMonikins, by Cooper 2 

544 Redgauntlet, by Scott. . . 2:> 

545 Home Scenes, by Arthur 15 



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POETICAL WORKS 



OP 



LORD BYRON 



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LIFE OF LORD BTRON. 



In presenting to the public a biography of so 
distinguished an individual as the subject of 
the present memoir— a subject already so ably 
illustrated by such men as Hobhouse, Scott, 
Bulwer, Moore — the -^'riter has before him a 
task of no ordinary difficulty ; yet, though in 
the main agreeing with these eminent author- 
ities, there are shades of colouring, hitherto 
lost sight of, which present in a more favour- 
able view manv of those passages in the life 
of the immortal author of " Childe Harold," 
which have been tortured by the withering 
tongue of slander — prompted by political pre- 
judice, religious bigotry, and mawworm mo- 
rality — into blots upon his proud escutcheon, 
into'stigmas upon his fair fame. 

His father, Captain Byron, who appears to 
liave been of extremely spendthrift and im- 
provident habits, having carried off to the 
Continent the wife of Lord Carmarthen, on 
the latter obtaining a divorce, married her. 
Of this union one daughter only was the issue, 
the Hon. Augusta Byron, afterwards Mrs. 
Colonel Leigh. On the death of his first wife 
in 1784. Captain Byron contracted a marriage, 
in the following year, with Miss Catherine 
Gordon, only daughter and heiress of George 
Gordon, Esq., of Gight, a descendant of the 
third son of the Earl of Huntley, by the 
daughter of James I. Shoriu^ after their mar- 
riage, which took piace at Bath, Captain 
Byron and his lady removed to their estate 
in Scotland, when his creditors becoming 
clamorous, not only her ready money (^3,000), 
bank shares, Salmon fisheries on the Dee, the 
farm of Monkshill, &c. were sacrificed to meet 
their claims, but a sum of ^8,000, raised by 
mortgage on the estate of Gight. In the 
summer of 1786, she and her husband left 
Scotland to proceed to France, and in the 
following vear the fee-simple of the estate itseL 
was sold'to Lord Hadd-, for £17,850, the 
whole of which was apphed to the payment 
of Captain Byron's debts, with the excejitioa 
of a small sum vested in trustees for the iisa 
of Mrs. Byron, who thus found herself, within 
the short space of two years, reduced fr-^m 
»ffliience to a pittance of .£150 a yoar. 



From France Mrs, Byron returne<l t» Eug 
land towards the close of 1787, and on tlit 
22ud of January, 1788, gave birth, in Holies- 
street, London," to her first and only child, 
George Gordon Byron, — the prefix of Gordon 
being added in compliance with a conditioc 
imposed by will on whosoever should become 
husband of the heiress of Gight. At the bap- 
tism of the child, the Duke of Gordon and 
Colonel Duff of Fetteresso stood sponsors. 

In person Mrs. Byron was lowsized and 
corpulent, provincially bred, of very plain 
manners and education, with apparently little 
or no sense of religion, though possessing an 
abundant stock of weak and vulgar supersti- 
tion, — a woman whose violent passions her 
husband's almost incredible ill-usage seemb to 
liave so worked upon as to shatter her reason, 
and, indeed, distort even her maternal feelings; 
for we find her, in one of her fits of passion, 
upbraiding her child with being " a lame 
brat." Such was the parent to whose un- 
aided care a youth, precocious in all his in- 
stincts, was abandoned during those years in 
which the education of the heart makes such 
ranid and irrevocable strides, even when the 
mental faculties are dull — a circumstance 
deeply to be weighed by those anxious to judge 
with candour the personal hi.story of her son. 

By an accident which, it is said, occun-ea 
at his birth, one of his feet was twisted outol 
its natural position, and this defect (chiefly 
from the contrivances employed to remedy it.) 
was a source of much pain and inconvenience 
to him during his eariy years; the expedients, 
however, subsequently adopted, under the 
direction of the celebrated John Hunter, were 
eventually so far successful as to enable him 
to draw on a boot. It is a singular coincidence 
that this deformity was a characteristic of three 
of his most distinguished coteniporaries— Si. 
Walter Scott, Marshal Soult, and Prince Tal- 
leyrand. 

When not quite five years of age, young 
Byron was sent to a day-school at Aberdeen 
evidently less with a view to his advance in 
learning (the terms being only a guinea a year) 
than for the purpose of keeping him quiet an# 



vm 



LIFE OF LORD BYHON. 



training him toscholastic discipline. Having 
attended this school for a twelvemonth, he was 
then removed to that of a clergyman named 
Ross, with whom he made considerable pro- 
gress ; and was subsequently placed under 
the private tutorship of a young man named 
Puterson, a rigid Presbyterian and distin- 
guished scholar, with whom he commenced 
Latin and continued to read until he was sent 
to the Grammar-school at Aberdeen, where he 
remained until recalled to England by the 
death of his grand-uncle, the fifth Lord Byron, 
at Newstead Abbey, May 19, 1798. 

The general impression retained of him by 
his surviving class-fellows at the Grammar- 
school is, that he was a lively, warmhearted, 
and high-spirited boy — passionate and resent- 
ful, but affectionate and companionable with 
his school-fellows — to a remarkable degree 
venturous and fearless, and " always more 
ready to give a blow than take one." He 
was, indeed, much more anxious to distin- 
guish himself by his prowess in sports and 
exercises than by advancement in learning. 
Though ouick when he would apply himself, 
or had any study that pleased him, he was in 
general low in his class, nor seemed ambitious 
of being promoted. 

7~ the summer of the year 1796, after an 
attack of scarlet-fever, he was removed by his 
mother for change of air into the Highlands, 
where they took up their residence at a farm- 
house in the vicinity of Ballatcr, a favourite 
summer resort for health and gaiety, about 
forty miles up the Dee from Aberdeen, and 
within a pleasant drive of that wild and ro- 
mantic scenery amidst which the dark sum- 
rait of Lachin-y gair stood towering before the 
eyes of the future bard ; and the verses in 
which, not many years after, he commemorated 
this sublime spectacle, afford convincing proof 
of the deep impression, young as he was at 
the time, its " frowning glories " made upon 
hira. 

In the autumn of 179S, Mrs. Byron and 
her son (now in his eleventh year) attended 
by their faithful domestic, May Gray, left 
Aberdeen for Newstead Abbey, the ancient 
seat of his anccstoi-s. This priory was founded 
about the year 1170, by Henry II., soon after 
the murder of Thomas a Bccket, On the dis- 
solution of the mon.asteries in the reign of 
Henry VIII., it was added, by a roynl grant, 
with the lands pertaining thereto, to the pos- 
sessions of the Byron family. Tl:e favourite 
npon whom they were cc^nfeired was the 



grand-nephew of the gallant soldiei who fought 
by the side of Richmond at Bosworth, and is 
distinguished from the other knights of the 
same Christian name in the family, by the title 
of 'Sir John Byron, the little." 

The small income of Mrs Byron received, 
about this period, a very seasonable addi- 
tion — though on what grounds accoi'ded is 
not stated — of a pension on the civil list of 
i'300 a year. Shortly after her arrival at 
Newstead, she placed her son under the care 
of a person at Nottingham, named Lavender, 
who appears to have been a mere enapirical 
pretender, in the hope of having his lameness 
removed ; and that the boy might not lose 
ground in his education, he received lessons 
in Latin from a Mr. Rogers, with wliom he 
read parts of Virgil and Cicero, and made con- 
siderable progress. Finding that he derived 
little benefit from the Nottingham practitioner, 
Mrs. Byron, in the summer of 1799, thought 
it right to remove him to London : and he wa:» 
accordingly placed in the academy of Dr 
Glennie, at Dulwich, and also under the sur- 
gical treatment of Dr. Matthew Baillie, she 
herself at the same time taking a house in 
Sloane Terrace. Having remained nearly two 
years with Dr. Glennie, during which time 
his studies were materially impeded by his 
mothers taking him to Sloane Terrace every 
Saturday and detaining him till Monday- 
much to the annoyance of the Doctor, who 
strongly remonstrated against it — young Byron, 
at the suggestion of his mother, and with the 
consent of Lord Carlisle, was sent to Harrow. 
During his residence in Dulwich Grove, the 
same amiability of disposition that charac- 
terized him at Aberdeen seems to have ac- 
companied him * Dr. Glennie says, " I found 
him enter upon his studies with alacrity and 
success. Pie was playful, good humoured, 
and beloved by his companions. His reading 
in history and poetry was far beyond the 
usual standard of his age, and he showed an 
intimate acquaintance with the historical parts 
of the Holy Scriptures." 

To a shy disposition, such as Byron's was 
in his youth — and such as, to a certain degree, 
it continued all his life — the transition from a 
quiet establishment, like that of Doctor Glen, 
nie's, to the bustle of a large public school, 
M-as sufficiently trying. Accordingly, we find 
from his own account, that, for the first yea. 
and a half, he " hat.?d Harrow." The activity 
and sociableness of his nature however soon 
overcame this repugnance ; and from being, ar 



i 



LIFE OF LORD BYRON. 



IX 



oe himself says, " n most unpopular boy," he 
rose at length to be a leudei- in all the sports, 
schemes, and mischief of tlie school. The Rev. 
Dr. Diurv , than whom there cannot be a more 
trtistworihy or valuable authority, and who 
was at this period (1801) head master of the 
School, lias given the following brief but im- 
portant statement of the impressions which liis 
early intercourse with the young noble left 
ipon him: — "Mr. Hanson, Lord Byron's 
olicitor, consigned him to my care at the age 
\ ]3i, with remarks that his education had 
oeen imperfect ; that he was ill prepared for a 
public sclaool, but that he thought there was a 
:levernes8 about him. After his departure I 
took my young pupil into my study, and en- 
ieavoured to elicit from him some inlbrmation 
with respect to his former amusemenis and 
associates, but with little or no etfect, — in fact 
I soon found that a wild mountain colt had 
been submitted to my management. But there 
"/•as mind in his eye. For some time a degree 
f shyness hung about him; however, his 
.lanner and temper soon convinced me, that 
le might be led by a silken string to a point, 
■ather than by a cable, — and on that principle 
I acted. After some continuance at Harrow, 
and when the powers of his mind had begun 
to expand, Lord Carlisle desired to see me in 
town : — I accordingly waited on his lonlship. 
His object was to intbrm me of Lord Byron's 
expectations of property when he came of age, 
which he represented as contracted, and to 
inquire respecting his abilities. On the former 
circumstance I made no remark ; as to the 
latter, I replied, ' He has talents, my lord, 
which will add lustre to his rank.' ' Indeed ! ! ! ' 
said his lordship, with a degree of surprise, 
that, according to my feeling, did not express 
in it all the satisfaction I expected." 

The following interesting anecdotes of his 
school life at Harrow are to be found scattered 
through his various note-books; and coming 
as tliey do from his own pen, atibrd the live- 
liest and best records of that period which we 
can present to the reader. 

" At Harrow I was remarked for the extent 
and readiness of my general information ; but 
in all other respects idle, capable of great 
sudden exertions but of few continuous 
drudgeries. My qualities were much more 
oratorical and martial than poetical; and Dr. 
Drury, my grand patron, had a great notion 
that I should turn out an orator, from ray 
fluency, my turbulence, my voice, my "opious- 
oes8 of declamation, and my action* 



"Peel, the orator and statesman, was my 
form-fellow. We were on good terms, but 
his brother was my intimate friend. There 
were always great hopes of Peel amongst us 
all, masters and scholars — and he has not dis- 
appointed them. As a scholar he was greatly 
my superior; as a declaimer and actor, I was 
reckoned at least his equal." 

" The prodigy of our school days was George 
Sinclair (son of Sir John) ; he made exercises 
for half the school, verses at will, and themes 
without it. He was a Iriend of mine and in 
the same remove, and used at times to beg me 
to let him do my exercises, — a request ahvays 
most readily accorded upon a pinch. On the 
other hand, as he was of a pacidc temperament, 
I fought for him, or thrashed others for him, 
or thrashed himself to make him thrash others, 
when it was necessary as a point of honoui 
and stature that he should so chastise ; and 
we were very good friends." 

" At Harrow, I fought my way very fairly 
I think I lost but one battle out of se^en, and 

that was to H ; but he only won it by the 

unfair treatment of his own boarding-house 
where we boxed. I had not even a second." 
Notwitlisiaiiding these general habits of 
play and idleness, which might seem to indi 
cate a certain absence of reflection and feeling, 
there were moments when the youthl'ul poet 
would retire thoughtfully within himself and 
give way to moods of musing uncongenial 
with the usual cheerfulness of his age. They 
show a tomb in the churchyard at Harrow, 
overhanging a picturesque valley and com 
manding a view of Windsor, known among 
his schoolfellows by the name of " Byroifs 
tomb;" and here, it is said, he used to sit for 
hours wrapt in thought, — brooding lonelily 
over the first emotions of passion and genius 
in his soul, and perhaps indulging in those 
bright forethoughts of fame, under the influ- 
ence of which, when little more than 15 years 
of age, he wrote the following lines : — 
" My epitaph shall be my name alone ; 
11' that with honour fail to crown my clay, 
Oh may no other fame my deeds repay ! 
That, only that, shall single out the spot, 
By that rcmember'd, or with that forgot." 
His pursuits, however, continued to be o! 
the same truant description during the wholo 
of his stay at Harrow, — " always," as he says 
himself, "cricketing, rebelling, rowing, and ir 
all manner of mischiefs." The general cha- 
racter which he bore among the masters was 
that of an idle boy, who could never leain 



LIFE OF LORD B'YEOK. 



anj thing ; and, as fa* as regarded his tasks 
in school, this reputation was, hy his own 
avowitl, not ill-founded. But, notwithstanding 
his backwardness in mere verbal scholarship, 
on which so large and precious a poition of 
life is wasted, in all that general and miscel- 
laneous knowledge which is chietiy useful in 
Wie world, he was making rapid and even 
wonderful progress. With a mind too inqui- 
sitive and excursive to be imprisoned wiihiu 
statutable limits, he flew to subjects that in- 
terested his already manly tastes, with a zest 
which it is not probable that mere school pedan- 
twes could inspire; and the irregular, but ardent 
snatches of study which he caught in this way, 
gave an impulse to a mind like his, which 
lei-t more disciplined and plodding competitors 
far behind. The list, indeed, which he has 
left on record, of the works, in all departments 
of literature, which he thus hastily and greedily 
devoured, is such as almost to startle belief, — 
comprising, as it does, a prodigious stock of 
multifarious reading, including almost the 
whole body of English poetry. The vacations 
he usually s])ent with his mother, who, in the 
summer of 180], took up her residence at 
Cheltenham. In the autumn of 1802, he 
passed a few weeks with her at Bath, where 
he entered, rather prematurely, into some of 
the gaieties of the place. On leaving Bath, 
Mrs. Byron took up her abode, in lodgings, at 
Nottingham, — Newstead Abbey being at this^ 
time (1803) let to Lord Grey de Ruthyn, — and' 
during the Harrow vacation of this year, she- 
was joined there by her son. So attached was* 
he to Newstead, that even to be in its neigh-) 
bourhood was a delight to him ; and, an intUi' 
macy having sprung up between him ana his 
noble tenant, an apartment in the abbey was 
henceforth always at his service. 

We now come to an event in his life, which, 
according to his own deliberate persuasion, 
exercised a lasting and paramount influence 
over the whole of his subsequent career. In 
the neighbourhood of the abbey, at Annesley, 
Ji-sided a family of the name of Chaworth, to 
vhom he had, some tnne before, been intro- 
duced in London, and with whom he soon re- 
newed his acquaintance. This family were 
the descendants oi that Mr. Chaworth who 
was killed in a duel by the grand-uncle of the 
poet, the fifth Lord Byron, and for which the 
latter stood his trial before the House of Peers, 
in the year 1765. Lapse of years, however, 
AD'i benevolence of disposition, served to obli- 
Urate the recollection of this catastrophe, aud 



a feeling of mutual esteem grew up Det\reeB 
the present youthful lord and the young heiresi 
of Annesley. In addition to the many worldly 
advantages which encircled her, Miss Cha- 
worth possessed much personal beauty and a 
disposition the most amiable and attaching. 
Though already alive to all her charms, it was 
at the period of which we are speaking that 
the young poet seems to have drunk deepest 
of that fascination whose effects were to be 
so lasting. He himself, in a memorandum in 
one of his note-books, says : — " Our union 
would have healed I'euds in which blood had 
been shed by our fathers, — it would have 
joined lands broad and rich, — it would have 
joined at least one heart, and two persons not 
ill matched in years (she is two years my eldei') 
and — and — and — wliat has been the result?" 
This result was occasioned by a very thought 
less expression on the one hand, and by vcrj'" 
hasty deportment on the other, He was either 
told of, or overheard, Miss Chaworth saying 
to her maid, " Do you think I could care any- 
thing for that lame boy?" This expression, 
as he himself described it, shot through his 
heart. Though late at night, he darted out ol 
the house, and, scarcely knowing whither he 
ran, never stopped till he found himself at 
Newstead. 

The vacation of 1804 he passed with his 
mother at Southwell, to which place she had 
removed from Nottingham ; and in the month 
of October, 1805, he was sent to Trinity 
College, Cambridge, being then in his seven- 
teenth year. His feelings on leaving Harrow 
seem to have been those of deep regret, aggra 
vated, as he himself asserts, by the reflection 
that " he was no longer a boy." This sort of 
estrangement, however, soon wore ofl", his com- 
panions being " social, lively, hospitable, and 
gay far beyond his gaiety." Swimming, diving 
(at which he s\'as very expert), sparring, 
cricketing, and writing poetry, now occupied 
his chief attention ; and in the sunnner of 
1806, he again joined his mother at South- 
well, — among the small, but select, society of 
which place he had, during his visits, formed 
some intimacies and friendships, the memory 
of which is still cherished there fondly and 
proudly. His visit, this summer, was, how 
ever, interrupted by one of those explosions o. 
temper, on the part of Mrs. Byron, to which; 
from his earliest childhood he had been but too 
well accustomed, and in producing which his 
own rebel spirit was not always, it may be 
supposed, entirely bjameless. Between a 



LIFE OF LORD BYRON. 



XI 



tenwer such a,s his and the loud hunicane 
hursts of his mother, a colHsion must he some- 
vvhat forinidahle ; and the age at which the 
young poet was now arrived, when the im- 
oatience of youth begins to champ the bit, 
would but render the occasions of such shocks 
•nore frequent. In general, however, when a 
storm threatened he found safety in flight, and 
•11 the instance to which we now allude he made 
hasty retreat to a friend's house, and thence 
started for London. Mrs. Byron was not, 
however, behind hand, in energy and decision, 
with his young lordship, but immediately, on 
discovering his retreat, set oflF after him. The 
result of their interview was that she returned 
without her son, the latter preferring to pro- 
long his excursion by a visit to Worthing and 
Harrowgate, whence he returned to Southwell, 
to take part in some private theatricals. It 
was about V ■- period that he had a volume of 
poetic essays printed for circulation amongst 
his friends ; 1)ut at the suggestion of the Rev. 
.rohn Be(;her (afterwards prebendary of South- 
well) he had the copies withdrawn and com- 
mitted to the flames. Considering himself 
boiuid to replace them by a less faultless 
•dition, he instantly set to work, and during 
ihe ensuing six weeks, continued busily occu- 
pied with his task. The fame which he now 
reaped within his limited circle made him but 
more eager to try his chance on a wider field ; 
tnd the hundred copies of which this edition 
:onsisted were hardly out of hand, when, with 
fresh activity, he went to press again, and his 
first published volume, the " Hours of Idle- 
ness," made its appearance. 

His \isits to Southwell now (1807) became 
few and transient, but of his charity and kind- 
heartedness he left there — as, indeed, at every 
place, throughout life, where he resided any 
time — the most endearing recollections. " He 
never," says a person who knew him inti- 
mately at this period, " met with objects of 
distress without affording them succour." A 
considerable portion of this year was passed 
in London, yet to say that he was idle, would 
be a contradiction, if we consider the extent 
f his correspondence, the number of his 
oetic essays, and the immense mass of En- 
glish literature which his note-books indicate 
as having been perused — consisting of His- 
tory, Geography, Biogi-aphy, Law, Philosophy, 
Poetry, Eloquence, Divinity, and miscellanies, 
•ncl th^u calculate the time passed in amuse- 
ments and taking exercise (to subdue that 
abesity which he so much dreaded), which 



. can be best collected from his own language : 
" Last week I swam in the Thames from 
Lambeth through the two bridges, West- 
minster and Blackfriars, a distam'e, including 
the different turns and tacks made on the 
way, of three miles ! You see I am in excellent 
training in case of a squall at sea. ' And 
again, " I have got a new friend, the finest ia 
the worjd, a tame bear. When I brought 
him here (to Cambridge), they asked me 
what I meant to do with him, and my reply 
was, ' he should sit for a fellowship.' This 
place is a villanous chaos of din and drunken- 
ness; nothing but hazard and burgundy, hunt- 
ing, mathematics, and Newmarket, riot and 
racing." Notwithstanding the danger, even 
to the most prudent youth, of such example 
and such scenes, the in-egularities to which 
he gave way were of a nature far less gross 
than those, perhaps, of any of his associates. 
The Edinburgh Review, at this time (March, 
1808) issued a most truculent critique on his 
" Hours of Idleness," said to proceed from the 
pen of Henry (subsequently. Lord) Brougham. 
Seldom, indeed, has it fallen to the lot of the 
justest criticism to attain celebrity such as 
injustice has procured for this; buL levelling 
principles were then rampant, and the oppor- 
tunity of insulting a lord even though a liberal, 
under pretext of admonishing a poetaster, was 
a temptation too rare to be resisted. Though 
his pride had been wounded to the quick, and 
his ambition humbled, yet this feeling o{ 
humiliation lasted but for a moment. The 
very reaction of his spirit against aggression 
roused him to a full consciousness of his own 
powers, — the pain and the shame of the injury 
Were forgotten in the proud certainty of re- 
venge, and the collected energy of his mind 
applied to the production of his " English 
Bards and Scotch Reviewers." 

It was in the autumn of this year (1808), 
that he, for the first time, took up his residence 
at Newstead Abbey. The mansion having 
been left in a most ruinous condition by its 
late occupant. Lord Grey de Ruthyn, he pro- 
ceeded immediately to fit up some of the 
apartments, so as to render them — more with 
a view to his mother's accommodation than his 
own — comfortably habitable. His coming of 
age in 1809, was celebrated, at Newstead, by 
such festivities as his limited means admitted 
The pecuniary supplies requisite for his outset 
at this epoch, were procured from money- 
lenders at an enormously usurious interest 
the payment of which for a long time coa 



KU 



LIFE OF LORD BYRON. 



dnued a burden to him. He now determined 
on taking his seat in the House of Peers, and 
having communicated his intention to Lord 
CarUsle, — under the impression that it was 
customary for a young peer, on fii'st taking 
h>s seat, to be introduced by a member, — 
instead of the answer he expected, he received 
a mere formal and cold reply. In a letter to 
his mother (March 6, 1809), he says : " I shall 
get my seat on the return of the affidavits 
from Carhais, in Cornwall, and will do some- 
thing in the House soon Lord Carlisle 

has used me infamously, and refused to state 
any particulars of my family to the Chan- 
cellor" (Lord Eldon). All the necessary 
documents, however, having been at length 
obtained, he, on the 13th of March, presented 
himself in the House, friendless and un- 
attended, save by one individual, a distant 
relative, who, chancing to pass through St. 
James's-strett on that day, casually looked in. 
This relative was Mr. Dallas, who says: 
" Passing down St. James's-sti-eet, but with 
no intention of calling on him, I saw his 
chariot at the door, and went in. His counte- 
nance, paler than usual, showed that his mind 
was agitated. He said to me—' I am glad 
you happened to come in ; I am going to take 
my seat, perhaps you will accompany me.' 
I expressed my readiness to do so, and we 
accordingly proceeded to the House, where we 
were received iu one of the ante-chambers by 
some of the officers in attendance, with whom 
he settled respecting the fees he had to pay. 
One of them went to apprise the Chancellor 
of his being there, and soon returned for him. 
When Lord Byron entered, 1 thought he looked 
^)aler than before ; and he certainly wore a 
■.•ountenance in which mortification was min- 
gled with, but subdued by, indignation. He 
passed the woolsack without looking round, 
and advanced to the table where the proper 
officer was attending to administer the oaihs. 
When he had gone through them, the Cha,n. 
cellor quitted his seat, and went towards him 
with a smile, putting out his hand warmly to 
welcome him, and, though I did not catch 
his words, I saw that he paid him some com- 
pliment. Lord Byron then carelessly seated 
himself for a few minutes on dne of the empty 
benches to the left of the throne, usually oc- 
cupied by the lords of the opposition, and 
having again joined me, we returned to St. 
James's-street." So far from taking an active 
part in the proceedings of his noble brethren, 
Its wai anticipaf.«d, ^he appears to have re- 



gai-ded even the ceremony of his attenianc* 
among them as irksome and mortifying; an^ 
in a few days after bis admission to his seat, 
he withdrew in disgust to the seclusion of 
Newstead, where he was soon actively en- 
gaged in pieparing a new edition of his satire. 
in arrangements for his intended tour, and 
in dispensing his hospita'ities to a few college 
friends who had assemlled around him tc 
celebrate a sort cf festive farewell. 

His new edition being now ready for the 
press, and all necessary preparations for his 
journey made, he, on the 11th of June, pro- 
ceeded to London, and on the 2nd of July, 
set sail from Falmouth, in company with Mr 
Hobhouse, for Lisbon, where they arrived 
after a pleasant voyage of four days and a 
half, rested ten days, and thence proceeded to 
Seville, Cadiz, Gibraltar; Tepaleen (in A*- 
bania), where he was hospitably entertaine'' 
by Ali Pacha; Jannina, Zitza, Acarnanitv, 
and on the 21st of November arrived at Mis 
solonghi. And here it is impossible not to 
pause, and send a mournful thought forward 
to the visit which, fifteen years after, he paif^ 
to this same spot, when, in the full meridian 
of his age and fame, he came to lay down his 
life as the champitm of that land, through 
which he now wandered a stripling and a 
stranger. He next proceeded to Patras, where 
he remained a fortnight ; thence directed his 
course . to Vostizza, Mount Parnassus, Le- 
panto, Thebes, Moiuit Cithairon, and on 
Christmas-eve arrived at Athens. On this his 
first visit to the city of Minerva, he made a 
stay of between two and three months. 

An unex])ected offer of a passage to Smyrna 
in an English sloop of war, the Pylades, 
now induced the travellers to make immo 
diate preparations for departure ; and on tl* 
5th of March, 1810, they reluctantly took 
leave of Athens. At Smyrna Lord B;, ron 
took up his residence in the house of tht> 
Consul-General, and remained there, ^^itl> 
the exception of two or three days spent \v s 
visit to the ruins of Ephesus, till the 11th oJ 
April, when he left Suiyrna, in the SalseiAt 
frigate, bound for Constantinople ; and aft^i 
an exploratory visit to the ruins of Trosj, 
arrived, at the beginning of May, in theD**/- 
danelles. While in the straits, waiting » 
favourable wind, he thus writes to his tnead 
Mr. Drury : — " This morning (May 3rd) 1 
swam from Sestos to Abydos. The imme- 
diate distance is not above a mile, but the 
current rendeis it hazardous so much sc 



LIFE OF LORD BYRON. 



xu 



that [ doubt whether Leander's conjugal affec- 
tion must not have been a little chilled in his 
passage." On the lith of May he un-ivedat 
Constantinople, where Mr. Adair, the English 
minister, pressed him to take up his residence 
at the English palace, but this hospitable 
offer Lord Byron declined, preferring the 
freeilom of a homely inn. Having made an 
excursion to the Black Sea, passing through 
the Bo>phorus, seatcMi himself on the Cyanean 
rocks, visited the principal mosques by vir- 
tue of a finnan, attended an audience given 
to tlie British ambassador by the Sultan, and 
seen the principal curiosities, he and his fel- 
low traveller took their departure, on the 11th 
of July, in the Salsette frigate, — Mr. Hob- 
louse, with the intention of proceeding to 
England; and Lord Byron, with the resolu- 
tion of again visiting Greece, which he 
reached in four days from Constantinople, 
landing at the island of Teos, whence he took 
boat to Athens ; spent about two months 
visiting the Morea, part of which time he was 
seriously ill at Patras ; and about eight months 
more in excursions through Attica, still 
making Athens his head-quarters, where he 
had apartments in a Franciscan convent, and 
wrote his " Hints from Horace," " Curse of 
Minerva," and various other pieces About 
the middle of May he sailed for Malta, 
where he was detained by an attack of ter- 
tian fever; and on the 3rd of June, continued 
his course to England, arriving early in July, 
in a letter written about this period, he says ; 
^-" I have just been two years absent from 
England, and I returr to it with much the 
same feeling which pi-evailed on my depar- 
ture, viz. indifference The 

first thing I shall have to encounter wdll be a 
lawyer, the next a creditor, then colliers, 
farmer,-;, surveyors, and all the agreeable at- 
tachments to estates out of repair, and con- 
tested coal-pits. In short, I am sick and 
sorry, and when I have a little repaired my 
iiTepaiable affairs, away I shall march, either 
to campaign in Spain, or back again to the 
Sast, where I can at least have cloudless 
vkies and a cessation from importunities." 

Imracxliately on his arrival in London, and 
while engaged settling some law affairs with 
his agent, he was suddenly called away to 
Newstead by an event which affected him far 
more deeply than might have been expec ted, — 
tha dangerous illness of his mother, whom, 
fato would have it. he was destiaed never to 
«ee again. In a letter, dated August 3nd, 



1811, he says : " My poor mother died yes 
terday! and I am on my way from tou'n, t( 
attend her to the family vault. I heard out 
day of her illness, the next of her deaih. 
Thank God, her last moments were tranquil. 
Peace be to her I" Whether from a return of 
early fondness and the all-atoning power ol 
the grave, or from the prospect of that void in 
his future life — that loneliness — which this 
loss of his only link with the past would 
leave, certain it is that he felt the death ofliis 
mother most acutely. It has been remarked 
that " the future good or bad conduct of the 
child depends entirely on the mother ;" how 
far the leaven that sometimes mixed itself 
with the better nature of the young poet — his 
uncertain and way ward impulses — his deliance 
of restraint — the occasional precipitance of 
his resentments — may have had their origin 
in his early collision with maternal caprice 
and violence, is a question upon which each 
will decide according to the more or less 
weight he may attribute to the influence of 
such occurrences on the formation of charac- 
ter. It cannot be denied, however, that not- 
withstanding her injudicious and coarse 
treatment of hiui, Mrs. Byron loved her sor. 
with that sort of fitful fondness of which 
alone her nature seemed capable — even 
more, that she was ambitiously proud of him 
Having now passed several months between 
Newstead and London, in preparing new 
editions of his works, composing others, and 
arranging the state of his affairs, he deter- 
mined to make his appearance once more in 
the House of Lords. He accordingly took 
his seat on the 27th of February, 1812. The 
subject of debate was the Nottingham Frame 
Breaking Bill, against which he delivered hii 
maiden-speech — one on which the highes> 
encomiums were passed even by rainisteria' 
members. 

Among the tributes to his fame, this year, 
he had the honour of being presented, at that 
royal personage's own request, to the Princt 
Regent, " Who," says Mr. Dalits, " ex- 
pressed his admiration of ' Childe Harold's 
Pilgrimage,' and continued a conversaticn 
which so fascinated the poet that, had it not 
been for an accidental deferring of the next 
levee, he bade fair to become a visitor at 
Carlton House, if not a complete courtier." 

We now find him at the zenith of poetic 
fame — honourably noticed by royalty, his 
society courted by those nobles who before 
stood with cold formality aloof, and an au 



nv 



LIFE OF LORD BTRON. 



miring world captivated and dazzlea by tne 
electric brilliancy of his genius. No nioi* 
opportune moment could have been selectea 
for that important change in life, which, it 
"Would appear, he contemplated; for in his 
note-book at this period (1813) his lordship 
writes : " A wife would be the saving of me." 
It was under this conviction, entertained not 
only by himself but by some of his friends, 
of the prudence of his taking timely refuge in 
matrimony from those pei-plexiues which form 
the sequel of all less regular ties, that he had 
been induced to turn his thoughts seriously to 
mamage ; and chiefly, it is said, by the ad- 
vice and through the intervention of Lady 
Melbourne, to become a suitor for the hand 
of her niece, Miss Milbanke, daughter of Sii 
Ralph Milbanke, of Seaham, in tlie county of 
Durham. Though his first proposal was not 
Hci'epted, eveiy assurance of regard and 
esteem accompanied the refusal — the young 
lady even requested that they should con- 
tinue to write to each other — in short, the 
refusal was anything but a decisive one; 
and on a second offer of his hand by the 
noble peer, in Sept. 1814, she thought proper 
to accept it, and on the 2nd of January, 1815, 
they were united. 

Shortly befnre his marriage, on a scrutiny 
into the state of hio affairs, he found them in 
80 vitterly embarrassed a condition as to fill 
him with alarm and even to suggest to his 
mind the prudence of deferring it — the die, 
however, was cast, and he had no alternative 
but t<i pro.ced. These embarrassments were 
now unfortunately, not slow in realising his 
worst, anticipations. The increased expenses 
of his new mode of life, with but very little 
increase of means to meet them, — the long 
strrears of early pecuniary obligations, as well 
as the claims which had been, gradually, since 
then, accumulating, all pressed upon him now 
With collected force, and reduced him to some 
of the most galling humiliations of poverty, — 
rght or nine times were executions in his 
iouse within twelve months ! He had even 
teen driven, by the necessity of encountering 
such demands, to the trying expedient of parU 
ing with his books, — which circumstance 
coming to the ears of his publisher, Mr. Mur 
ray, that gentleman instantly foi-warded to 
Mm £1,600, wath an assurance that another 
sum of the same amount should be at his ser- 
vice in a few weeks. This generous and 
U'uly noble offer was gratefully acknowledged 
by Lo/d Byron, but at the same time proudly 



aecnued. Great dissatisfaction appears i-o\ 
to have been manifested by Lady Byron— 
the mortification of not being able to support 
a style suitable to her rank, the fretfuiness 
occasioned in her husband by his pecuniary 
distresses, and the imaginary impression made 
on her mind that he was imder the influence 
of insanity — all combined to induce her to 
wish for a separation ; and she, accoidingly, 
under pretence of paying a short visit to her 
father, lex"^ London for one of his seats, 
whither Lord Byron was to follow in a few 
days ; but from whence, immediately on /t*» 
arrival, Sir Ralph Milbanke wroie to acquaint 
him that she would return to him no more. 
Thus, at the moment he was " standing alone 
on his hearth, with his household gods shivered 
around him," he was also doomed to receive 
the startling intelligence, that the wife who 
had just parted with him in kindness, had 
parted with him — forever! The issue of this 
unfortunate marriage was one daughter, Au- 
gusta Ada, born 10th December, 1815. 

If there be truth in the assertion that " the 
greater number of unhappy marriages may 
oe traced to trivial causes," there can be little 
doubt that Lord Byron's must be placed in 
the category. The last words of the parting 
wife to the husband being those of the most 
playful affection, while the language of the 
deserted husband towaids the wife was in a 
strain of tenderest eulogy, are in themselves a 
sufficient proof that, at the time of tlieir part- 
ing, no very deep sense of injury could bavo 
existed. The tide of popular feeling, how- 
2ver, now set in against him with such iri- 
petuosity, that the utter hopelessness o( 
stemming the torrent seems to have prompted 
his withdrawd to a foreign land; ai.d we 
accordingly find him, on the 25th April, 1816, 
and in the 28th year of his age, taking a last 
farewell of his native country 

The noble exile first proceeded to Ostend, 
thence to Brussels, Waterloo, an<i Geneva , 
and in the early part of October, set out for 
Italy, visiting Martigny, Milan, Verona, and 
Venice, which was his chief station till De* 
ccmber, 1819. During this interval he spent 
some days at Rome, Ferrara, and olnci 
places. He next proceeded to Ravenna, 
^\hence his correspondence for nearly two 
years is dated (including his visits toBologna.) 
It was while in Venice that he became ac- 
quainted with the Countess Guiccioli, a young 
Romagnese V iy, daughter of Count Gamba 
of Ravennit Whilst residing at Ravenna h 



LIFE OF LORD BYRON, 



XV 



appears to have been mixed up with Carbo 
oaro polities to a great extent, and to have 
contributed large suras for the patriots of the 
Austrian Slates, of the Romish legations, and 
even of Naples. He now removed to Pisa 
(Nov. 1821), and in September, 1822, took 
up his residence at Genoa. About this period 
he began to turn his thoughts more actively 
towards Greece, and having received commu- 
nicati ms from the Greek Committee in Lon- 
don and other quarters, impressing on him 
the great stimulus his presence on the scene 
of action would afford, he lost no time in 
making preparations for his romantic expedi- 
tion. By the aid of his banker at Genoa, he 
contrived to raise 10,000 crowns in specie, 
and .£40.000 in bills. An English vessel, the 
Hercules, waS now freighted, and on the 14th 
July, 1823, he and his suite sailed for Leg- 
horn, to take in gunpowder and oihev materiel. 
and thence proceeded to Argostoli in Cepha- 
.onia, where they arrived about the Srd of 
August. 

Having despatched messengers to Corfu 
and Missolonghi, in order to ascertain the 
position of affairs, he. mean time, made an ex- 
cursion to Ithaca, which occupied eight days; 
and Mavrocordato having been appointed, 
with full powers, to organise Western Greece, 
the fit moment for Lord Byron's presence 
seemed to have arrived. He, therefore, forth- 
with embarked on board a Greek vessel, the 
Mistico ; and, previously touching at Zante, 
to take in specie, proceeded to Missolonghi, 
where he arrived, having narrowly escaped 
being captured by the Turkish fleet, on the 
5th .Jan. 1824. 

The reception their no lie visitor experienced 
was flattering and brilliant. The whole popu- 
lation of the place crowded to the shore to 
welcome him : the ships anchored off the 
fortress fired a salute as he passed ; and all 
the troops and dignitaries, civil and military, 
' with Prince Mavrocordato at their head, met 
him on his landing, and accompanied him, 
a.'oidst the mingled din of shouts, music, and 
discharges of ai'tillery, to the residence pre- 
pared for him. 

He was now not long in ascertaining that 
diso-^ganization and dissatisfaction prevailed 
in every department, and that while the 
Government were unable to provide pay or 
food for the troops, the population presented 
a fermenting mass of insubordination and dis- 
cord, tending, far more likely, to their turning 
their arms against each other than against the 



enemy. In this state of things his ready foro^ 
sight pointed out the necessity of energetic 
measures, and, at his suggestion, an expedition 
was projected against Lepanto, a for.ified 
town, which, from its commanding the entrance 
to the Gulf of Corinth, was of vital importance. 
Of this expedition he was appointed Com- 
mander-in-chief, but whilst the necessary pre- 
parations were being made, he was strenuously 
opposed by Colonel Stanhope, who, at a meeting 
on the I5th of February, maintained the pro- 
priety of iirst healing internal dissensions by 
means of a free press — to which Lord Byron 
replied : " I think the author s brigade will be 
ready before the soldier's printing press." Tlie 
words were scarcely uttered, when he staggerci 
forward a pace or two, and fell into the arms 
of one of the by-standers. As soon as the fit 
ceased, leeches were applied to his temples, 
and other restoratives administered, which 
partially restored him. 

The Suliote troops destined for the expedi- 
tion now became so insubordinate and mur 
tinous that all idea of the attack on Lepauf.o 
was abandoned. This, added to the dreadful 
shock his frame sustained on lue 15th, and the 
effect of a cold caught in an excursion made 
into the country with Count Gamba, whence 
he returned wet through and in a state of 
violent perspiration, brought on a shivering 
attended with rheumatic fever. On the 11th 
of April the fever seemed to increase, and on 
the 14th, Dr. Bruno recommended bleeding, 
which, though approved of by a meeting of the 
faculty, was obstinately opposed by the patient.. 
He, however, at length assented, but the result 
did not correspond with the hopes formed ; yet 
it was repeated twice on the 17th, and blisters 
applied to his feet. On the 18th, he rose about 
3 o'clock in the afternoon, and leaning on his 
servant Tita, tottered into an adjoining room, 
but feeling faint, returned to his bed. It was 
now evident that he knew he was dying, and 
between his anxiety to make his last wishes 
understood and the rapid failure of his utter- 
ance, a most painful scene ensued. On 
Fletchei asking whether he should bring pen 
and paper to take down his worc's — " Oh no," 
he replied, " there is no time — it is now nearly 
over. Go to my sister— tell her — go to Lady 
Byron — you will see her and say — " Here his 
voice faltered and became indistinct. Yet he 
continued to irutter — •" Poor Greece — -my poor 
servants — my sister — my child." 

It was about 6 o'clock in the evriing, when 
he said " Now I shall go to sleep ' and thea 



XVJ 



LIFE OF LORD BYEON. 



tinning round, fell into that slumber from 
which he never awoke. At a quarter past 6 
o'clock in the evening of the following day 
'the 19th) he was ob.scrved to open his eyes 
and shut them again. The physicians felt his 
pulse — he was no more. 

The grief that universally pervaded all 
cliisses at^.Missolonghi on the announcement 
ot' his death would be as difficult as superfluous 
to describe. No honours that could be de- 
vised, were too great to be lavished on his 
remains. At Salona, where the Congress had 
assembled, his soul was prayed for in the 
church; after which the whole garrison and 
the citizens went out into the plain, where 
another religious ceremony took place, under 
the shade of the olive trees. This being con- 
cluded, the troops fired ; and an oration, full 
of the warmest praise and gratitude, w^as pro- 
nounced by the High Priest. 

After an energetic eiibrt on the part of the 
Greek Government and people to retain his 
remains among them, and place them in th-j 
Terapile of Theseus at Athens, it was at length' 
conceded to allow them to be sent to Eng- 
land. They were, accordingly, embarked, on' 
fr.fc aavi ii May, on boaxd an English frigate, 



under a mournful salute from the battery ; an* 
on tne 29lh of June arrived in the Downs. 
On its arrival in London, the bodv was re- 
moved to the house of Sir Edward KuatchbuU, 
where it lay in state during Friday and Satur- 
day, the 9th and 10th of July. The Dean and 
Chapter of Westminster are said to have in- 
timated their intention of refusing his remains 
a resting-place in the Abbey ; even if they 
had signified their assent, it M-ould not have 
altered the determinatijA of his friends to de- 
posit them in the village- church of Hucknall. 
where, on Friday, the 16th of July, they were 
interred, close to those of his mother, in tlie 
family vault. We cannot close this biography 
more appropriately than by an extract frois 
a tribute to his memory, bv Samuel Rogers 
Esq. 

" Thou art gone ; 
And he who would assail thee in thy grave, 
Ob 1 let him pause ! for who among us all. 
Tried as thou wert — even from thy earliest years,. 
AVhen wandering, yet unspoilt, a Highland boy- 
Tried as thou wert, and with thy soul of flame ; 
Pleasure, while yet the down was on thy cheek. 
Uplifting, pressing, and to lips like thine, 
Her charmed cup — ah, who amongst us all 
Could say he had not err'd as much and moit?" 



CI)t Giaour ; 



A FRAGMENT OF A TURKISH TALK 



■ One fatal remembrance— one sorrow that throws 
Its bleak shade alike o'er our joys and our woes— 
To which Life nothing darker nor brighter can bring. 
For which joy hath no balm— and affliction no sting." 

Moonit. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 
The tale which these disjointed fragments pre- 
sent, is founded upon circumstances now less 
common in the East than formerly; either be- 
cause the ladies are more circumspect than in 
the " olden thne," or because the Christians have 
better fortune, or less enterprise. The story, 
when entire, contained the adventures of a 
female slave, who was thrown, in the Mussul- 
man manner, into the sea, for infidelity, and 
avenged by a young Venetian, her lover, at the 
time the Seven Islands were possessed by the 
Republic of Venice, and soon after the Arnauts 
were beaten back from the Morea, which they 
had ravaged for some time subsequent to the 
Russian invasion. Tlie desertion of the Mai- 
notes, on being refused the plunder of Misitra, 
led to the abandonment of that entei-prise, and 
to the desolation of the Morea, during which 
the cruelty exercised on all sides was unpa- 
ralleled even in the annal i of the faithful.* 



"^TSc €&taour. 



No breath of air to break tlie wave 
Ttiai, rolls below the Athenian's gi'ave, 
That tomb2 which, gleaming o'er the cliff, 
Fi-st greets the homeward-veering skilf, 
H.gh o'er the land he saved in vain; 
When shall such hero live again? 

***** 
Fair clime ! where every season smiles 
Benignant o'er those blessed isles, 
V^Tiich, seen from far Colouna's height, 
Made glad the heart that hail? the sight, 
And lend to loneliness delight. 



There mildly dimpling, Ocean s che«k 
Reflects the tints of many a peak 
Caught by the laughing tides that lave 
These E dens of the eastern wave : 
And if at times a transient breeze 
Break the blue crystal of the seas. 
Or sweep one blossom from the trees^ 
How welc(mie is each gentle air 
That wakes and wafts the odours there! 
For there— the Rose o'er crag or vale, 
Sultana of the Nightingale,3 

The maid for whom his melody, 
His thousatid songs are heard on high. 
Blooms blushing to her lover's tale : 
His queen, the garden queen, his Rose, 
Unbent by wi.ids, unchilld by snows, 
Far from the winters of the west, 
By every breeze and season blest, 
Returns the sweets by nature given 
In softest incense back to heaven; 
And gi'ateful yields that smiling sky 
Her fairest hue and fragrant sigh. 
And many a summer flower is there, 
And many a shade that love might slioi-j^ 
And many a grotto, meant for rest, 
That hold's the pirate for a guest ; 
V^''hose bark in sheltering cc»e below 
Lurks for the passing peacef; 1 prow, 
Till the gay mariner's guitu * 
Is heard, and seen the everirig star; 
Then stealing with the muffled oar 
Far shaded by the rocky shore, 
Rush the night-prowlers on the prey. 
And turn to gi'oans his roundelay. 
Strange — that where Nature loved l3 tnM^ 
As if for Gods, a dwelling place. 
And every charm and gi.ice hath mix'd 
Within the paiadise she fix d. 



THE GIAOUR. 



There man, enamour'd of distress, 

Should mar it into wilderness, 

And trample, brute-like, o'er each flower 

That tasks not one laborious horn* ; 

Nor claims the culture of his hand 

To bloom along the fairy land, 

But springs as to preclude his care. 

And sweetly woos him — but to spare ! 

Strange — that where all is peace beside. 

There passion riots in her pride, 

And lust and rapine wildly reign 

To darken o'er the fair domain. 

It is as though Vhe fiends prevail'd 

Against the seraphs they assail'd. 

And, fix'd oTi heavenly thrones, should dwell 

The freed inheritors of hell ; 

So soft the scene, so form d for joy, 

So cm-st tlie tyrants that destroy ! 

He -ho hath bent him o'er the dead 
Ere tliU fii'st day of de;Uh is fled, 
The first dark day of nothingness, 
The last of danger and distress, 
(Before Decay's eflacing fingers 
Have swept tJie lines where beauty lingers,; 
And mark'd the mild angelic air. 
The raptiu-e of repose that's there. 
The fix'd yet tender traits that streak 
The languor of the placid cheek, 
And-T-but for that sad shrouded eye. 

That fires not, wins not, weeps not, now, 
And but for that chill, changeless brow. 
Where cold Obstruction's apathy 
Appals the gazing mourner's heart, 
As if to him it could impart 
The doom he dreads, yet dwells upon ; 
Yes, but for these and these alone, 
Some moments, ay, one treacherous hour, 
He still might doubt the tyi-ant's power; 
So fair, so calm, so softly seal'd. 
The first, last look by death reveal'd ! 
r Such is the aspect of this shore ; 
'T is Greece, but living Greece no more! 
So coldly sweet, so deadly fair, 
We start, for soul is wanting there. 
Hers is the loveliness in death. 
That pai-ts not quite with parting breath ; 
But beauty with that feai-ful bloom. 
That hue which haunts it to the tomb, 
Expression's last receding ray, 
A gilded ha'c hovering round decay. 
The farewell beam of Feeling past aw.ay ! 
Spark of that flame, perchance of heavenly 

birth, 
Which gleams, but warms no more its cherish'd 
earth .'5 



Clime o* the unforgfttttn brave '. 
Whose land from plain to mountain ean 
Was Freedom's home or Glory's grav«: ! 
Shrine of the mighty ! can it be. 
That this is all remains of thee ? 
Approach, thou craven crouching slave 

Say, is not this Thermopylaj? 
These waters blue that round you lave. 

Oh servile oflspring of the free — 
Pronounce what sea, what shore is this 
The gulf, the rock of Salamis! 
These scenes, their story not unknowi^ 
Arise, and make again your own; 
Snatch from the ashes of your sires 
The embers of their fonner fires ; 
And he who in the strife expires 
Will add to theirs a name of fear 
That Tyi-anny shall quake to hear. 
And leave his sons a hope, a fame, 
They too will rather die than shame. 
For freedom's battle once be^un. 



Bequeath'd by bleeding Sire to Son, 
• Though baffled oft is ever won. 
Bear witness, Greece, thy living page. 
Attest it many a deathless age ! 
While kings, in dusty darkness hid, 
Have left a nameless pyramid, 
Thy heroes, though the general doom 
Hath swept the column from their tomfa^ 
A mightier monument command. 
The mountains of their native land \ 
There points thy Muse to stranger's ey« 
The gi-aves of those that cannot die .' 
'T were long to tell, and sad to trace, 

r. E ach step from splendour to disgrace ; 

( Enough — no foreign foe could quell 
Thy soul, till from itself it fell ; 
Yes ! Self-abasement paved the way 
To villain-bonds and despot sway. ") 

What can he tell who treads thy shore f 

No legend of thine olden time, 
No theme on which the muse might soa 
High as thine oavti in days of yore. 

When man was worthy of thy clime. 
The hearts within thy valleys bred. 
The fiery souls that might have led 

Thy sons to deeds sublime, 
Now crawl from cradle to the gi'ave, 
Slaves — nay, the bondsmen of a slatej 

And callous, save to crime ; 
Stain'd with each evil that pollutes 
Mankind, where least above the brut 
Without even savage virtue blest. 
Without one free or valiant breast 



THE GIAOUR. 



Still to the neighbouring ports they waft 
Proverbial wiles, and ancient craft; 
In tiiis tlie subtle Greek is found, 
For this, and tliis alone, renown'd. 
In rain might Liberty invoke 
Thtt spirit to its bondage broke, 
Or raise the ueck that courts the yoke : 
No more her sorrows I bewail, 
Yet this will be a mournful tale, 
And they who listen may believe, 
Who heard it fii-st had cause to grieve. 
***** 

Fai', dark, along the blue sea glancing, 
Tie shadows of the rocks advancing 
Start on the fisher's eye like boat 
Of island-pirate or Mainote ; 
And fearful for his light caique, 
He shuns the near but doubtful creek : ■■ 
Though w om and weary with liis toil, 
And cumber'd with his scaly spoil. 
Slowly, yet strongly, plies the oar, 
Till Port Leone's safer shore 
Receives him by the lovely light 
That best becomes an Eastern night. 

***** 

Who thundering comes on blackest steed, 
With slacken'd bit and hoof of speed? 
Beneath the clattering iron's sound 
iTie cavem'd echoes wake around 
In lash for lash, and bound for bound ; 
The foam that sti-eaks the courser's side 
Seems gather'd from the ocean-tide : 
Though weaiy waves are sunk to rest. 
There's none within his rider's breast; 
And though to-morrow's tempest lower, 
'Tis calmer than thy heart, young Giaour '.8 
I know thee not, I loathe thy race, 
But in thy lineaments I trace 
What time shall strengthen, not efface: 
Though young and pale, that sallow frorrt 
Is scathed by fiery passion's brunt; 
Though bent on earth thine evil eye, 
As meteor-like thou glidest by. 
Right well I view and deem thee one 
Whom Othman's sons should slay or shun. 

On — on he hasten' d, and he drew 
Wy gaze of wonder as he flew ; 
Though like a demon of the night 
He pass'd, and vanish 'd from my sight, 
His aspect and his an* impress'd 
A troubled memory on my b>east, 
And long upon my startled ea^ 
Rung his dark courser's hoofs of fear. 
He spurs his steed ; he nears the steep. 
That, jutting, shadows o'er the deep ; 



He winds around ; he humes oy ; 
The rock relieves him from mi.ic eye. 
For well I ween unwelcome he 
Whose glance is fix'd on those that flee ; 
And not a star but shines too bright 
On him who takes such timeless flight. 
He woimd along ; but ere he pass'd 
One glance he snatch'd, as if his last, 
A moment check'd his wheeling steed, 
A moment breathed him from his speed, 
A moment on his stirrup stood — 
Why looks he o'er the olive wood? 
• The crescent glimmers on the hill, 
The Mosque's high lamps ai-e quivering still 
Though too remote for sound to wake 
In echoes of the far- tophaike, 9 
The flashes of each joyous peal 
Are seen to prove the Moslem's zeal, 
To-night, set Rhamazani's sun; 
To-night, the Bairam feast's begim; 
To-night — but who and what art thou 
Of foreign garb and fearful brow? 
And what are these to thine or tliee. 
That thou should'st either pause or fleef 

He stood — some d:-ead was on his face, 
Soon Hatred settled in its place . 
It rose not with the reddening flush 
Of transient Anger's hasty blush, 
But pale as mai'ble o'er the tomb. 
Whose ghastly whiteness aids its gloom. 
His brow was bent, his eye was glazed ; 
He raised his aim, and fiercely raised, 
And sternly shook his hand on high, 
As doubting to return or fly; 
Impatient of his flight delay'd, 
Here loud his raven charger neigh'd — 
Down glanced thathand, and grasp'd his bladb 
That sound had bm-st his waking dream, 
As Slumber starts at owlet's scream. 
The spm- hath lanced his courser's sides \ 
Away, away, for life he rides : 
Swift as the hurl'd on high jen-eed''' 
Springs to the touch his startled steed ; 
The rock is doubled, and the shore 
Shakes with the clattering tramp no mor* ; 
The crag is won, no more is seen 
His Christian crest and haughty mien,'* 
'T was but an instant he resti'ain'd 
That fieiy barb so sternly rein'd ; 
T was but a moment tliat he stood, 
Ti^en sped as if by death pursued : 
' But in that instant o'er his soul 
( Winters of Memory seem'd to roll. 
And gather in tliat di'op of time 
A life of pain, an age of crime 



THE GIAOUR. 



Oei him who loves, or hates, or fears, 

Sucli mninenl pours the grief of years : 

Wlaat I'clt he then, at onc-i opprest 

6y all that most disiracls the breast? 

That pause, which poiulerd o'er his fate, 

Oh, who its dreary length shall date ! 

Though in Time's record nearly nought. 

It was Eternity to Thought! 

For infinite as boundless space 

The thought that Conscience must embrace, 

Wliich in itself can comprehend 

Woe without name, or hope, or end- 

The hour is past, the Giaour is gone; 
\nd did he fly or fall alone ? 
Woe to that hour he came or went ! 
The curse for Hassan's sin was sent 
To turn a palace to a tomb : 
He came, he went, like the Simoom,l2 
That harbinger of fate and gloom, 
Beneath whose widely-wasting breath 
The very cypress droops to death — 
Dark tree, still sad when others' grief is fled. 
The only constant mourner o'er the dead! 

The steed is vanish'd from the still; 
No serf is seen in Hassan's hall; 
The lonely Spider's thin gi'ay pall 
"Waves slowly widening o'er the wall ; 
The Bat builds in his Haram bower, 
And in the fortress of his power 
Tlie Owl usui-ps the beacon-tower; 
The wild-dog howls o'er the fountain's brim. 
With baffled thirst, and famine, grim ; . 
For the stream has shnmk from its marble bed, 
SMicrethe weeds andthedesolatedustare spread. 
T was sweet of yore to see it play 
And chase the sultriness of day, 
A.S springing high the silver dew 
In whirls fantastically flew, 
A.nd flung luxurious coolness round 
The air and verdm'e o'er the ground. 
T was sweet, when cloudless stars were \ right, 
To view the wave of watery light, 
4nd hear its melody by night. 
And oft had Hassan's Childhood play'd 
Around the verge of that cascade ; 
And oft upon his mother's breast 
Tha* sound bad hannonized his rest; 
And .'ft had Hassan's Youth along 
Its bank been soothed by Beauty's song 
And sofler seem'd each melting tone 
Of Music mingled with its own. 
But ne er shall Hassan's Age repose 
Along the brink at twilight's close. 



The stream thai fiU'd that font is fled-- 

The blood that warm'd his heart is shed 

And here no more shall human voice 

Be heard to rage, regi'et, rejoice. 

The last sad note that swell'd the gale 

Was woman's wildest funeral wail: 

TJiat quench'd in silence, all is stilJ, 

But the lattice tliat flaps when the windis shrii 

Though raves the gust, and floods the rain, 

No hand shall close its clasp again. 

On desert sands 't were joy to scan 

The rudest steps of fellow man. 

So here the very voice of Grief 

Might wake an Echo like relief — 

At least 'twould say, "All are not gone; 

There lingers Life, though but in one" — 

For many a gilded chamber's there, 

'AiMiich Solitude might well Ibrbeai'; 

"Within that dome as yet Decay 

Hath slowly work'd her cankering way-— 

But gloom is gather'd o'er the gate. 

Nor there the Fakir's self will wail; 

Nor there will wandering Dei'vise stay, 

For bounty cheers not his delay ; 

Nor there will M'eary stranger halt 

To bless the sacred " bread and salt"13 

Alike must Wealth and Poverty 

Pass heedless and unheeded by, 

For Courtesy and Pity died 

Witli Hassan on the mountain side. 

His roof, that refuge imto men, 

Is Desolation's hungry den. 

The guest flies the hall, and the vassal from labotri 

Sincehis tm-ban wascleftby the infidtl's sabre !^< 



1 hear the soimd of coming feet, 
But not a voice mine ear to greet ; 
More near — each turban I can scan. 
And silver-sheathed ataghan;'^ 
The foremost of tlje band is seen 
An Emir by his garb of gi-een -.'6 
" Ho ! who art thou?" — '' This low saiaml' 
Replies of Moslem faith I am." — 
" The burthen ye so gently bear 
Seems one that claims yom' utmost care. 
And, doubtless, holds some precious freight. 
My humble bark would gladly wait " 

" Thou speakest sooth ; thy skiff immoo% 
And waft us from the silent shore ; 
Nay, leave the sail still furl'd, and ply 
The nearest oar that's scatter'd'by. 
And midway to those rocks where sleep 
The chaimel'd waters daik and deep. 



THE GIAOUR. 



Rest from your task — so — bravely done, 
Our course has been right swiftly nin ; 
Yet 't is the longest voyage, I trow, 
That one of— * * • • 

* * * * • ** 

Sullen it plunged, and slowly sank, 
The calm wave rippled to the bank ; 
I watch'd it as it simk, methought 
Some motion from tlie current caught 
BestiiT'rl it more, — 'twas but the beam 
That chccker'd o'er the living stream: 
I gazed, till viuiishing from view, 
Like lessening pebble it withdrew ; 
Still less and less, a speck of white 
That gemm'd the tide, then mock'd the sight; 
And ail its hidden secrets sleep. 
Known but to Genii of the deep, 
Which, trembling in their coral caves 
They dare not whisper to the waves. 

mm*** 

As rising on its purjjle wing 
The insect-queen '8 of eastern spring, 
O'er emerald meadows of Kashraeer 
Invites the young pursuer near, 
And leads him on from flower to flower 
A weary chase and wasted hour, 
Then leaves him, as it soars on high, 
With panting heart and tearful eye : 
So Beauty lures the full-grown child, 
With hue as bright, and wing as wild; 
A chase of idle hopes and fears, 
Begim in folly, closed in tears. 
If won, to equal ills betray'd, 
Woe waits the insect and the maid ; 
A life of pain, the loss of peace. 
From infant's play, and man's caprice : 
The lovely toy so fiercely sought 
Hath lost its chaiin by being caught, 
For evciy touch that woo'd its stay 
Hath brush'd its brightest hues away, 
Till charm, and hue, and beauty gone, 
'T is left to fly or fall alone. 
With wounded wing, or bleeding breast, 
Ah! where shall either victim rest? 
Can this with faded pinion soar 
From rose to tulip as before ? 
Or Beauty, blighted in an hour, 
Find joy within her broken bower? 
No : gayer insects fluttering by 
Ne'er droop the wing o'er those that die, 
^nd lovelier things have mercy shown 
fo every failing but their own, 
And every woe a tear can claim 
Except an ening sister's shame. 



The Mind, that broods o'er guilty woe\ 

Is like the Scon^ion girl by tiie. 
In circle narrowing as it glows, 
The flames around their captive close. 
Till inly search'd by thousand tbtoes, 

And maddening in her ire, 
One sad and sole relief she knows, 
The sting she nourish'd for her foes, 
\Miose venom never yet was vain, 
Gives but one pang, and ciu^es all pain, 
And darts into her desperate brain : 
So do the dark in soul expire, 
Or live like Scorpion girt by fire;'^ 
So wTithes the mind llemorse hath rivsn, 
Unfit for earth, imdoom'd for heaven. 
Darkness above, despair beneath, 
Around it flame, within it death ! 

* * m * » 

Black Hassan from the Haram flies. 
Nor bends on woman's form hJK eyes ; 
The imwonted chase each hour employs, 
Yet shares he not the hunter's joys. 
Not thus was Hassan wont to fly 
When Leila dwelt in his Serai. 
Doth Leila there no longer dwell ? 
That tale can only Hassan tell- 
Stnmge nimours in oiu- city say 
Unon that eve she fled away 
When Ilhamazan's20 last sun was set, 
And flashing from each minaret 
Millions of lamps proclaim'd the feast 
Of Bairam through the boundless East 
'T was then she went as to the bath, 
Which Hassan vainly search'd in WTath ; 
For she was flowTi her master's rage 
In likeness of a Georgian page, 
And far beyond the Moslem's power 
Had wrong'd him with the faithless Giaoia 
Somewhat of this had Hassan deemd ; 
But still so fond, so fair she seem'd. 
Too well he tnisted to the slave 
Whose treacheiy deserved a giave; 
And on that eve had gone to mosque. 
And thence to feast in his kiosk. 
Such is the tale his Nubians tell, 
WTio did not watch their charge too well; 
But others say, that on that night. 
By pale Phingari's'^l trembling light, 
The Giaour upon his jet black steed 
Was seen, but seen alone to speed 
With bloody spur along the shore. 
Nor maid nor i)age behind him bore. 

* * ♦ » « 

Her eye's dark chann 't were \ ain to ItJJ 
But gaze on that of the Gazelle, 
It will assist tby fancy well ; 



THE GIAOUR. 



As !arge, as languishingly dark, 

But Soul l)eani d foilli in every spaik 

That darted from beneath the lid, 

Bright as the jewel of GianischidZ-J^ 

Yea, Soul, and shoidd our prophet say 

That forni was nought but breathing clay, 

By Alia ! I woidd answer nay ; 

Though on Al-Sirat's23 arch I stood. 

Which totters o'er the fiery flood. 

With Paradise ^v^thin my view. 

And all his Houris2-4 beckoning through. 

Oh ! who young Leila's glance could read 

A.nd keep that portion of his creed. 

Which saith that woman is but dust, 

A souUess toy for tp-ant's lust? 25 

On her might Muftis gaze, and own 

That through her eye the Immortal shone ; 

On her fair cheek's unfading hue 

The young pomegranate's 2<5 blossoms strew 

Their bloom in blushes ever new ; 

Her hair in hyacinthine 2' flow, 

■\Mien left to roll its folds below. 

As midst her handmaids in the hall 

She stood superior to them all, 

Elcith swept the marble where her feet 

Gleam'd whiter than the mountain sleet 

Ere from the cloud tlrat gave it birth 

It fell, and caught one stain of earth. 

The cygnet nobly walks the water; 

So moved on earth Circassia's daughter. 

The loveliest bird of Franguestan ! 28 

As rears her crest the ruffled Sw^an, 

And spurns the wave with wings of pride, 
When pass the steps of stranger man 

Along the banks that bomid her tide ; 
Thus rose fair Leila's whiter neck: — 
Thus ami'd with beauty w^ould she check 
Intrusion's glance, till Folly's gaze 
Slrrunk from the chamis it meant to praise • 
Thus high and graceful was her gait; 
Her heart was tender to her mate ; 
Her mate — stem Hassan, who was he? 
Alas ! that name was not for thee ! 

» ♦ * * * 

Stem Hassan hath a journey ta'en 
With twenty vassals in his train. 
Each ami'd, as best becomes a man, 
With arquebuss and ataghan ; 
The chief before, as deck'd for wax, 
Bears in his belt the scimitar 
Stain'd with the best of Amaut blood, 
When in the pass the rebels stood, 
A.nd few retum'd to tell the tale 
Of what befell in Fame s vale. 
The pistols which his girdle bore 
Were those that once a pasha wore. 



■WTiich still.though gemm' d and boss'd with gol^ 
Even robbers Uemble to behold. 
T is said he goes to woe ^ bride 
More true than her who ^eft his side ; 
The faithless slave that broke her bowei, 
And, worse than faithless, for a Giaoui- 1 



The sun's last rays are on the hill. 
And sparkle in the fountain rill, 
"V^'hose welcome waters, cool and clear. 
Draw blessings from the moimtaineer . 
Here may the loitering merchant Greek 
Find that repose 't were vain to seek 
In cities lodged too near his lord. 
And trembling for his secret hoai'd — 
Here may he rest where none can see. 
In crowds a slave, in deserts free ; 
And with forbidden wane may stain 
The bowl a Moslem must not drain. 



The foremost Tartar's in the gap, 
Conspicuous by his yellow cap; 
The rest in lengthening line the while 
Wind slowly thi-ough the long defile . 
Above, the momitain rears a peak, 
\^'hel•e vultures whet the thirsty beak. 
And theirs may be a feast to- night, 
Shall tempt them down ere morrow's li^ 
Beneath, a river's wintry stream 
Has shrunk before the summer beam. 
And left a channel bleak and bare, 
Save shrubs that spring to perish there . 
Each side the midway path there lay 
Small broken crags of granite gray, 
By time, or mountain lightning, riven 
Fi'om surrunits clad in mists of heaven ; 
For where is he that hath beheld 
T le peak of Liakura imveil'd? 



They reach the gi-ove cf pine at last: 
" Bismillah '29 now the peril's past; 
For yonder \ \ew the opening plain, 
And there we '11 prick om* steeds aniain 
The Chiaus spake, and as he said, 
A bullet whistled o'er his head ; 
The foremost Tartar bites the gi-oimd ! 

Scarce had they time to check the rein, 
Swift from their steeds the riders bound ; 

But three shall never mount again : 
Unseen the foes that gave the wound, 

The dying ask revenge in vain 



THE GIAOUR. 



With steel imsheath'd, and carbine bent, 
Some o'er Iheii' courser's harness leant, 

Half shflter'd by the steed ; 
Some lly behind the nearest rock, 
And there await the coming shock, 

Nor tamely stand to bleed 
Beneath the shaft of foes unseen, 
Who dare not quit their craggy screen 
Stem Hassan only Irom his horse 
Disdains to light, and keeps his course, 
Till fiery flashes in the van 
Proclaim too sure the robber-clan 
Have well secured the only way 
Could now avail the promised prey ; 
Then curl'd his very beard^o with ire, 
And glared his eye with fiercer fire : 
" Though far and near the bullets hiss, 
I 've 'scaped a bloodier horn* than this." 
And now the foe their covert quit, 
And call his vassals to submit ; 
But Hassan's frown and furious word 
Are dreaded more than hostile sword. 
Nor of his little band a man 
Resign'd carliine or ataghan. 
Nor raised the craven cry, Am,aun 131 
In fuller sight, more near and near, 
The lately ambush'd foes appear, 
And, issuing from the grove, advance 
Some who on battle-charger prance. 
Who leads them on with foreign brand. 
Far flashing in his red right hand? 
" ' T is he ! 't is he I I know him now; 
I know him by his pallid brow ; 
I know him by the evil eje^- 
That aids his envious treachery ; 
I know him by his jet-black barb: 
Thoug?! now aiTay'd in Amaut garb. 
Apostate from liis own vile faith. 
It shall not save him from the death: 
"T is he ! well met in any hour, 
Lost Leila's love, accursed Giaoiur!" 

As rolls the river into ocean. 
In sable torrent wildly streaming ; 

As the sea-tide's oppo-sing motion, 
In azare column proudly gleaming. 
Beats back the cun-ent many a rood, 
In cm-ling foam and mingling flood, 
While eddying whirl, and breaking wave, 
Roused by the blast of winter, rave ; 
Through sparkling spray, in thundering clash, 
The lightnings of the waters fla^h 
In awful whiteness o'er the shore, 
That shines and shakes beneath the roai'j 
Thus — as the stream and ocean greet, 
With waves that madfJen as they meet — 



Thus join the bands, whom mutual wrong, 
And fate, and fury, drive along. 
The bickering sabres' shivering jar; 
And pealing wide or ringiig near 
Its echoes on the throbbing eai', 
The deathshot hissing from afar ; 
The shock, the shout, the gioan of war, 
Reverberate along that \ ale. 
More suited to the shepherd's t;i!e: 
Though few the numbers — theirs the strifa 
That neither spares nor speaks for life ! 
Ah ! fondly youthful heaits can press. 
To seize and share the dear caress; 
But Love itself could never pant 
For all that Beauty sighs to grant 
With half the fervour Hate bestows 
Upon the last embrace of foes, 
Allien grappling in the fight they fold 
Those aims that ne'er shall loose their hold : 
Friends meet to part ; Love laughs at faith ; 
True foes, once met, are join'd till death. 



With sabre shivcr'd to the hilt, 

Yet di-ipping with the blood he spilt ; 

Yet strain'd within the severd hand 

^^^lich quivers round that faithless brand ; 

His turban far behind him i-oll'd, 

And cleft in twain its finnest fold ; 

His flowing robe by falchion torn, 

And crim.son as those clouds of mom 

That, streak'd with dusky red, portend 

The day shall have a stomiy end ; 

A stain on every bush that bore 

A fragment of his palampore,33 

His breast with wounds unnumber'd riven, 

His back to earth, his face to heaven, 

Fall'n Hassan lies — his unclosed eye 

Yet lowering on his enemy. 

As if the hour that seal'd his fate 

Surviving left his quenchless hate ; 

And o'er him bends that foe -with brow 

As dark as his that bled below. — ■ 



" Yes, Leila sleeps beneath the wave. 
But his shall be a redder gi-ave; 
Her spirit pointed well the steel 
Which taught that felon heart to feel. 
He call'd the Prophet, but his power 
Was vain against the vengeful Giaour: 
He call'd on Alia — but the word 
Arose unheeded or unheard. 
Thuu Paynim fool ! could Leila's prayw 
Be pass'd, and thine accorded there? 



TILE GIAOUR, 



I watchM my time, I leagued with these. 
The traitor in his turn to seize ; 
My WTath is wreak'd, the deed is done, 
And now I go — ^but go alone." 



The browsing camels' bells are tinkling . 
His Mother look'd from her lattice high — 34 

She saw the dews of eve besprinkling 
The pastm-e green beneath her eye, 

She saw the planets faintly twinkling 
"'T is twilight — sure his train is nigh." 
She could not rest in the garden-bower, 
But gazed tlirough the gi'ate of his steepest 

tower : 
"Why comes he not? his steeds are fleet, 
Nor shrink they from the summer heat ; 
Why sends not the-Bridegroom his promised 

gift? 
Is his heart more cold, or his barb less swift? 
Oh, false reproach ! yon Taitar now 
Has gain'd our nearest mountain's brow, 
And warily the steep descends. 
And now within the valley bends; 
And he bears the gift at his saddle bow — 
How could I deem his courser slow? 
llight well my largess shall repay 
His welcome speed, and weary way." 

The Tartar lighted at the gate. 

But scarce upheld his fainting weight: 

His sv/avlhy visage spake distress, 

But this might be from weariness ; 

His garb with sanguine spots was dyed, 

But these might be from his com'ser's side ; 

He drew the token from his vest — 

Angel of Death! 'tis Hassan's cloven crest! 

His calpac^S rent — his caftan red — 

•' Lady, a feaiful bride thy Son hath w^ed : 

Me, not from mercy, did they spai-e, 

But this empiujiled pledge to bear. 

Peace to the brave ! whose blood is spilt : 

Woe to the Giaoui-! for his the gjjilt." 



A turban-*^ carved in coarsest stone 
A pillar with rank weeds o'ergi'own, 
Whereon can now be scarcely read 
The Koran verse that mounis the dead, 
Point out the spot where Hassan fell 
A victim in that lonely dell. 
There sleeps as true an Osmanlie 
As e'er at Mecca bent the knee ; 
A» ever scom'd forbidden wine, 
Or pray'd with face towaids the shrine 



In orisons resumed anew 
At solemn sound of " Alia Hu!"* 
Yet died he by a sti-anger's hand, 
And stianger in his native land; 
Yet died he as in anns he stjod, 
And unavenged, at least in blood. 
But him the maids of Paradise 

Impatient to their halls invite, 
And the dark Heaven of Hoiuis' ev'** 

On him shall glance for ever brigl't ; 
They come — their kerchiefs green the7 ■»» • -s 
And welcome with a kiss the bravf ! 
Who i^lls in battle 'gainst a Giaour 
Is wonhiest an immortal bower. 

* * * * • 

But thou, false Infidel ! shall wri'l'*'- 
Beneath avenging Monkir's^S scj-the; 
And from its torment 'scape alone 
To wander round lost Eblis'-io thi-one ; 
And fire unquench'd, unquenchable, 
Around, wdthin, thy heart shall dwell ; 
Nor ear can hear nor tongue can teli 
The tortures of tliat inw-ard hell I 
But first, on earth as Vampire*! sent. 
Thy corse shall from its tomb be rent : 
Then ghastly haunt thy native place. 
And suck the blood of all thy race ; 
There from thy daughter, sister, wife, 
At midnight drain the stream of life ; 
Yet loathe the banquet which perforce 
Must feed thy livid living corse : 
Thy victims ere they yet expire 
Shall know the demon for their sire. 
As cursing thee, thou ciusing them, 
Thy flowers are wither' d on the stem. 
But one Uiat for thy crime must fall, 
The youngest, most beloved of all, 
Shal bless thee with a father's name — 
That word shall wrap thy heart in flame U 
Yet must thou end thy task, and mark 
Her cheek's last tinge, her eye's last s[)ark 
And the last glassy glance must view 
Which freezes o'er its lifeless blue ; 
Then with unhallow'd hand shall teai- 
The tresses of her yellow hair, 
Of which in life a lock when shorn 
Afl'ection's fondest pledge was worn, 
But now is borne away by thee, 
Memorial of thine agony ! 
Wet with thine o%vn best blood shall drif 
Thy gnashing tooth and haggard lip ♦' 
Then stalking to thy sullen grare, 
Go — and with Gouls and Afrits rave; 
Till these in horror sluink away 
From spectre more accursed than they! 



THE GIAOFR. 



*How name ye yon lone Caloyer? 

His feauu'es I have scann'd before 
In mine own land: 'tis many a year, 

Since, dashing by the lonely shore, 
I saw him urge as fleet a steed 
As ever served a horseman's need. 
But once I saw that face, yet tlien 
It was so mark'd with inwai'd pain, 
I could not pass it by again ; 
It breatlies the same dark spirit now, 
As death were stamp'd upon his brow. 

•* 'T is twice tlxree \-ears at summer tide 
Since first among our frercs he came; 
And here it soothes him to abide 

For some dark deed he will not name. 
But never at our vesper prayer, 
Nor e'er before confession chair 
Kneels he, nor recks he when aj'se 
Incense or anthem to the skies, 
But broods within his cell alone, 
His faith and race alike unknown. 
The sea from Pavnim land he crost, 
And here ascended from the coast; 
Yet seems he not of Othman race. 
But only Chinstian in his' face: 
I 'd judge him some stray renegade, 
Repentant of the change he made, 
Save that he shuns our holy shrine, 
Nor tastes the sacred bread and wine. 
Great largess to these walls he brought, 
AM thus our abbot's favoiu* bought; 
But were I prior, not a'^day 
Should brook such stranger's further stay, 
Or pent within our penance cell 
Should doom him there for aye to dwell. 
Much in his visions mutters he 
Of maiden whelm'd beneath the sea; 
Of sabres clashing, foemen flvnng. 
Wrongs avenged, and Moslem dying. 
On clitl" he hath been kno^vn to stand, 
And rave as to some bloody hand 
Fresh isever'd from its parent limb. 
Invisible to all but him, 
"Wliich beckons onward to his grave, 
And lures to leap into the wave." 



Darls and unearthly i* the scowl 
That glares beneath his dusky cowl : 
The flash of that dilating eye 
Reveals too much of times gone by ; 
Though varying, indistinct its hue. 
Oft wdl his glance the gazer me, 
For in it lurks that nameless spell. 
Which syeaks, itself unspeakable, 



A sp-'rit yet unquell'd and high, 

Tha^. claims and keeps ascendancy 

And like the bird whose pinions quftk«, 

But oannot fly the gazing snake, 

Will others quail beneath his look, 

Nor 'soape the glance they scarce car '^nufc. 

From Lim the half-aflfrighted Fiiar 

When mc\ alone would fain retire, 

As if that .^e and bitter smile 

TransfeiTA to others feiu* and guile : 

Not oft to iimlc dcscendeth he 

And when hi v^oth 't is sad to see 

That he but D'Oiks at Misery. 

How that pale 'ii ^^^ll curl and quiver i 

Then fix once ^> re as if for ever; 

As if his sorrow a* disdain 

Forbade him e'ci t*^ smile again. 

Well were it so — t'u ^h ghastly miith 

From joyaiuice ne'er .lerived its birth. 

But sadder still it wo'-t Ui trace 

AVhat once were feelirg^ iu that Aice: 

Time hath not yet the fettuves fix'd, 

But brighter traits with e\.\ inix'd ; 

And there ai"e hues not alwhys faded, 

"WTiich speak a mind not aU »'e^-aded 

Even by the crimes through wi.ic> it wadcJ 

The common crowd but see the ^•^o^nc 

Of wa3'ward deeds, and fitting dao.-n , 

The close observer can espy 

A noble soul, and lineage high: 

Alas ! though both bestow'd in vain, [:'tain 

Which Grief could change, and Gun. cou>.: 

It was no vulgar tenement 

To which such lofty gifts were lent. 

And still with little less than dread 

On such the sight is riveted. 

The roofless cot, decay" d and rent, 

AVill scarce delay the passer by; 
The tower by war or tempest bent 
While yet may frown one battlement, 

Demands and daunts the stranger's eye; 
Each ivied arch, and pillar lone. 
Pleads haughtily for glories gone ! 

" His floating robe around him folding, 

Slow sweeps he thi-ough the column'd aisl« 
With dread beheld, with gloom beholding 

The rites that sanctify the pile. 
But when the anthem sliakes the choir. 
And kneel the monks, his steps retire; 
By yonder lone and wavering torch 
His aspect glares within the porch; 
There will he pause till all is done— 
And hear the prayer, but utter none. 
See — by the half-illmnined wall 
His hood fly back, his dark hair bHH, 



10 



THE GIAOUR. 



That pale broAv wildly wreathing round, 

As if the Gorgon there had bound 

The sablest of the serpent-braid 

That o'er her fearful forehead stray'd : 

For he declines the convent oath, 

And leaves those locks unhallow'd growth 

But wears our g;ii-b in all beside ; 

And, not from piety but pride. 

Gives wealth to walls that never heard 

Of his one holy vow nor word. 

Lo ! — mark ye, as the harmony 

Peals louder praises to the sky, 

That livid cheek, that stony air 

Of mix'd defiance and despair ! 

Saint Francis, keep him from the shrine ! 

Else may we dread the \\Tath divine 

Made manifest by awful sign. 

If ever evil angel bore 

The foi-m of moital, such he wore : 

By all my hope of sins forgiven, 

Such looks are not of earth nor heaven ! " 

To love the softest hearts are prone, 

But such can ne'er be all his own ; 

Too timid in his woes to share, 

Too meek to meet, or brave despair; 

And sterner hearts alone may feel 

The wound that time can never heal. 

The rugged metal of the mine, 

Must burn before its surface shine, 

But plunged within the faniace-flame. 

It bends and melts — though still the same 

Then temper'd to thy want, or will, 

T will serve thee to defend or kill ; 

A bi-east-plate for thine hour of need, 

Or blade to bid thy foeman bleed ; 

But if a dagger's form it bear, 

Let those who shape its edge, beware ! 

Thus passion's fire, and woman's art, 

Cen turn and tame the sterner heart; 

From these its form and tone are ta'ea 

And what they make it, must remain. 

But break — before it bend again. 



If solitude succeed to grief, 
Release from pain is slight relief; 
The vacant bosom's wilderness 
Might thank the pang that made it less 
We loathe what none are left to share: 
Even bliss — 'twere woe alone to bear; 
The heart once left thus desolate 
Must fly at last for ease — to hate. 
It is as if the dead could feel 
The icy worm around ihem steal. 
And shudder, as the reptiles creep 
To revel o'er .their rotting sleep. 



Without the power to scare away 
The cold consumers of their clay I 
It is as if the desertrbird,'*3 

Whose beak unlocks her bosom's SVr©« 

To still her famish'd nestlings" scream, 
Nor mourns a life to them transfen-'d, 
Should rend her rash devoted breast, 
And find them flown her empty nest. 
The keenest pangs the wretched tind 

Are rapture to the dreary void. 
The leafless desert of the mind, 

The waste of feelings unemploy'd. 
W^ho would be doom'd to gaze upon 
A sky witliout a cloud or sun ? 
Less hideous far the tempest's roar 
Than ne'er to brave the billows more- 
Thrown, when the war of winds is o'er, 
A lonely wreck on fortune's shore, 
'Mid sullen cahn, and silent bay. 
Unseen to chop by dull decay ; — • 
Better to sink beneath the shock 
Than moulder piecemeal on the rock I 



** Father! thy days have pass'd in peace, 

'Mid counted beads and countless praya ; 
To bid the sins of others cease, 

Thyself without a crime or care, 
Save "transient ills that all must bear. 
Has been thy lot from youth to age ; 
And thou wilt bless thee from the rage 
Of passions fierce and uncontroU'd, 
Such as thy penitents unfold, 
Wliose secret sins and soitows rest 
Within thy pure and pitying breast. 
My days, though few, have pass'd below 
In much of joy, but more of woe; 
Yet still in hours of love or strife, 
I 've 'scaped the weariness of life: 
Now leagued with friends, now girt by fue% 
I loathed the languor of repose. 
Now nothing left to love or hate. 
No more with hope or pride elate, 
I'd rather be the thing that crawls 
Most noxious o'er a dungeon's walls, 
Than pass my dull unvarying days, 
Condemn'd to meditate and gaze. 
Yet. lurks a wish within my breast 
For rest — but not to feel 'i- is rest. 
Soon shall my fate that wish fulfil ; 

And I shall sleep without the dream 
Of what I was, and would be still, 

Dark as to thee my deeds may seem : 
My memoiy now is but the tomb 
Of joys long dead; my hope, their dooBl 



THE GIAOUR. 



11 



Though bettfcx to have died with those 

Than bear a life of lingering woes. 

My spirit shmuk not to sustain 

The searching throes of ceaseless pain; 

Nor sought ihe self-accorded grave 

Of cincicnt fool and modem knave : 

Yet death I have not I'ear'd to meet; 

And in tlie field it had been sweet, 

Had danger woo'd me on to move 

The slave of glory, not of love. 

1 've braved it — not for honour's boast ; 

I smile at laajf Is won or lost ; 

To such let others cai-ve their way, 

For high renoAvn, or hireling pay . 

But place again before my eyes 

Aught that I deem a worthy prize; 

The maid I love, the man I hate. 

And I will hunt tile steps of fate. 

To save or slay, as these require. 

Through rending steel, and rolling fire: 

Nor need" St thou doubt this speech from one 

Who would but do — what he hath done. 

Death is but what the haughty brave, 

The weak must bear, the wretch must crave ; 

Then let Life go to him who gave : 

I have not quail'd to danger's brow 

When high and happy — need I now t 



" I lov«>d her, Friar ' nay, adored — 

But -hese ai-e Avords that all can use — 
I proved it more in deed than word ; 
There "s blood upon that dinted sword, 

A stain its steel can never lose : 
T was shed for her, who died for me, 

It wann'd the heart of one abhorr'd: 
Nay, start not — no — nor bend thy knee, 

Nor midst my sins such act record ; 
Thou wilt absolve me from the deed, 
For he was hostile to thy creed ! 
The verj' name of Nazarene 
Was woimwood to his PajTiim spleen. 
Ungi-ateful fool ! since but for brands 
Well wielded in some hardy hands, 
And wounds by Galileans given, 
The surest pass to Turkish heaven, 
lor him his Houris still might wait 
Impatient at the Prophet's gate, 
I loved her — love will find its way 
Thiough paths where wolves would fear to 

prey; 
And if it dares enough, 't were hard 
If passion met not some rewar 1 — 



No matter how, or where, or why, 

I did not vainly seek, nor sigh: 

Yet sometimes, with reraors*-, in vain 

1 wish she had nut loved again. 

She died — I dare not tell thee how ; 

But look — 'tis written on my brow I 

There read of Cain the cm-se and crime, 

In characters unworn by time : 

Still, ere thou dost condemn me, pause ; 

Not mine the act, though I the cause. 

Yet did he but what I had done 

Had she been false to more than one. 

Faithless to him, he gave the blow ; 

But true to me, I laid him low : 

Howe'er deserved her doom might be. 

Her treachery was truth to me ; 

To me she gave her heart, that all 

WTiichtjTanny can ne'er enthrall; 

And I, alas ! too late to save ! 

Yet all I then could give, I gave, 

'T was some relief, our foe a grave. 

His death sits lightly : but her fate 

Has made me — what thou well may'st hale 

His doom was seal'd — he knew it well, 
Warn'd by the voice of stem Taheer, 
Deep in whose darkly boding eai"*4 
The dcathshot peal'd of murder near, 

As filed the troop to where they fdl ! 
He died too in the battle broil, 
A time that heeds nor pain nor toil; 
One cry to Mahomet for aid, 
One prayer to Alia all he made : 
He knew and cross'd me in the fray— 
I gazed upon him where he lay. 
And watch'd his spirit ebb away: 
Though pierced like pard by hunters' steel, 
He felt not half that now I feel. 
I search'd, but vainly search'd, to find 
The workings of a wounded mind ; 
Each featui-e of that sullen corse 
Botray'd his rage, but no remoi'se. 
Oh, what had Vengeance given to trace 
Despair upon his dying face ! 
The late repentance of that hour, 
When Penitence hath lost her power 
To tear one teiTor from the grave, 
And will not sootlie, and caimot save. 



" The cold in clime are cold in blood, 
Their love can scarce deserve the name , 

But mine was like a lava flood 
That boils in ^Etna's breast of 1 



12 



THE &]LiOUR. 



I cannot prate in puling str^ 
Of ladye-love, and beauty s chain: 
If changing cheek, and bcurching vein. 
Lips taught to writhe, but not complain 
If bursting heart, and madd'ning brain, 
And daring deed, and vengeful steel, 
And all that I have felt, and feel. 
Betoken love — that love was mine. 
And shown by many a bitter sign. 
"l" is true, I coidd not whine nor sigh, 
1 knew but to obtain or die. 
1 die — but lirst I have possess'd. 
And come what may, I hai>e been bless'd. 
Shall I the doom I sought upbraid? 
No — reft of all, yet imdismay'd 
But for the thought of Leila slain, 
Give me the ])leasure with the pain. 
So would I live and love again. 
I grieve, but not, my holy guide ! 
For him who dies, but her who died; 
She sleeps beneath the wandering wave — 
Ah! had she but an earthly grave, 
This breaking heart and throbbing head 
Should seek and share her nan-ow bed. 
She was a form of life and light. 
That, seen, became a part of sight ; 
And rose, where er I turned mine eye, 
The Momiug-star of Memory ! 

"Yes, Love indeed is light from heaven, 

A spark of that immortal fire 
With angels shared, by Alia given, 

To lift from eaith our low desire. 
Devotion wafts the mind above, 
But Heaven itself descends in love; 
A feeling from the Godhead caught. 
To wean front self each sordid thought, 
A Kay of him who fomi'd the whole ; 
A Glorj- circling round the soul! 
I grant my love imperfect, all 
That mortals by the name miscall; 
Then deem it evil, what thou wilt; 
But say, oh say, hers was not guilt 
She was my lil'e's unening light . 
That quenc'h'd, what beam shall break mynighd* 
Oh ! would it shone to lead me still. 
Although to death or deadliest ill ! 
Why maa-vel ye, if they who lose 

This present joy, this future hope, 

No more with soitow meekly cope; 
In phrcnsy then their fate accuse : 
In madness do those fearful deeds 

That seem to add but guilt to woe ? 
«.ias I the breast that inly bleeds 

Hath nought to diead from outwai'd blow; 



Who falls £oin aJl hx k^ows of bliaa, 

Cares little iuto what bhycs. 
Fierce as ihe gloomy vul'urwi's now 

To thee, old man, my dced^* appear^ 
T lead abhorrence on tLy br^if*. 

And this too was I born to '--ek-^! 
Tis true, that, like that bird ot /re", 
With havock have I mark'd m/ v y 
-But this was taught me by the '.ovt. 
To die — and know no second love, 
■^'his lesson yet bath man lo leai-n, 
Taught by the thing he dares to spurt 
VLe bird that sings within the brake, 
I xt swan that swims upon the lake, 
(..'t "i mate, and one alone, will take. 
AiP»' l-^.t the fool still prone to range. 
An I 'L>eer on all who cannot change, 
ParJ-Ue his jest with boasting boys; 
I en^y vtt his varied joys. 
But de lu'' snch feeble, heartless man, 
Less thtJi von. solitary swan ; 
Fai", fai" b-'ii ^aih the shallow maid 
He left belieN 'ng and betray'd. 
Such shame at .^a^t was never mine — 
Leila ! each thnu^Th> was only tliine ! 
My good, my gu;li., my weal, my woe. 
My hope on high — uy all below 
E arth holds no other L^e to thee, 
Or, if it doth, in vain foi me : 
For worlds I dare not \i^w the dame 
Pesembling thee, yet not tbe same. 
The very crimes that mai- my youth. 
This bed of death — attest my truth ! 
'T is all too late — thou wert, thou art 
The cherisli'd machiess of my heail ! 



" And she was lost — and }'et I breathed. 

But not the breath of human life: 
A sei"pent roimd my bean, was \\Tcathed, 
And stung my every thought to strife. 
Alike all time, abhorred all place, 
Shuddering I shiimk from Nature's face, 
Where eveiy hue that chanu'd before 
The blackness of my bosom wore. 
The rest thou dost already know, 
And all my sins, and half my woe. 
But talk no more of penitence ; 
Thou see' St I soon shall pail from heno« 
And if thy holy tale were tme. 
The deed tlial's done canst thou undo? 
Think me not thankless — but this ginel 
Looks not to priesthood for relief. 
ISIy soul's estate in secret guess* 
But would'st thou pity more, say leMr 



THE GIAOUR. 



13 



When thou canst bid my Leila live. 
Then will I sue thee to forgive ; 
Then plead my cause in that high place 
Wheie purchased masses proffer grace. 
Go, when the hunter's hand hath rung 
From fore.st-cave her shrieking yoimg, 
And calm the lonely lioness 
But soothe not — mock not m?, distress' 



In earlier days, and calmer hours, 

When heart with heart delights to bleni. 
Where bloom my native valley's bowers, 

I had — Ah I have I now? — a friend ! 
To him this pledge I charge thee send, 

Memoriid of a youthful vow ; 
I would remind him of my end: 

Though souls absorb'd like mine allow 
Brief t-iOught to distant friendship's claim, 
Yet dear to him my blighted name. 
Tis strange — he prophesied my doom, 

Aud I have smiled — I then could smile — 
Wlien Prudence would his voice assimie, 

And warn — I reck'd not what — the while ; 
But now remembrance whispers o'er 
Those accents scarcely mark'd before. 
Say — that his bodings came to pass, 

A nd he will start to hear their truth, 

And wish his words had not been sooth: 
Tell him, unheeding as I was, 

Througn many a busy bitter scene 

Of all our golden youtli had been, 
in pain, my faltering tongue had tried 
To bless his memoiy ere I died ; 
But Heaven in wrath would turn away, 
If Guilt should for the guiltless pray. 
I do not ask him not to blame. 
Too gentle he to wound my name ; 
And what have I to do ^\^th fame' 
I do not ask him not to mouni, 
Such cold request might sound like scorn; 
And what than friendship's manly tear 
May better grace a brother's bier? 
But bear this ring, his own of old, 
And tell him — what thou dost behold ! 
The wither'd frame, the ruin'd mind, 
The wi-ack by pa'-sion left oehini, 
A shrivell'd scro.i, a scatter'd leaf, 
Seai-'d by the autimin blast of giief. 



"Tell rre no more of fancy's gleam, 
No, father, no, 'twas not a dream; 
Alas! tlie dreamer first must sleep, 
T only watch' d, and wish'd to weep; 



But could not, for my burning brow 

Throbb'd to the ver\- brain as now: 

I wish'd but for a single tear, 

As something welcome, new. and dear; 

I wish'd it then, I wish il still ; 

Despair is stronger than my will. 

Waste not thine orison, despair 

Is mightier than thy pious prayer: 

I would not. if I might, be blest; 

I want no paradise, but rest. 

'T was then, I tell thee, father ! tfapn 

I saw her; yes, she lived again; 

And shining in her white symai',45 

As through yon palegi-ay cloud the star 

W^hich now I gaze on, as on her. 

Who look'd and looks far lovelier; 

Dimly I view its trembling spark ; 

To-moiTow's night shall be more dark 

And I, before its rays appear. 

That lifeless thing the living fear. 

I wander, father ! for my soul 

Is fleeting towards the final goal. 

I saw her, friar! and I rose 

Forgetful of our foraier woes ; 

And rushing from my couch, I dart, 

And clasp her to my desperate heart; 

I clasp — what is it that I clasp ? 

No breathing fonn within mj grasp, 

No heart that beats reply to mine, 

Yet, Leila ! yet the fonn is thine I 

And art thou, dearest, changed so mackt 

As meet my eye, yet mock my touch? 

Ah! were thy beauties e'er so cold, 

I care not ; so my arms enfold 

The all they ever wish'd to hold. 

Alas ! around a shadovv^ prest, 

They shrink upon my lonely breast; 

Yet still 'tis there! In silence stands, 

And beckons with beseeching hands! 

With braided hair, and bright-black eye-» 

I knew 'twas false, she could not die! 

But he is dead ! within the dell 

I saw him buried where he fell ; 

He comes not, for he cannot break 

From earth; why then art thou awake? 

They told me wild waves roll'd above 

The face I view, tLe fonn I love ; 

They told me — 'twas a hideous tale! 

I'd tell it, but my tongue would fail : 

If tnie, and from thine ocean-cave 

Thou com'st to claim a calmer gi-ave; 

Oh! pass thy dewy fingers o'er 

This brow that then will bum no more; 

Or place them on my hopeless heart • 

But, shape or shade ; whate'cr thou art, 

In mercy ne'er again depart' 



14 THE GIAOUR. 



Or farther with thee bear my soul And, save the cross above my bead. 

Than winds can waft or waters roll ! Be neither name nor emblem spread. 

By prying sti'anger to be read, 

^ ^ ^ , , Or stay the passing pilgiim's tread.''** 

" Such is my name, and such my tale He pass'd — nor of his name and ra^ 

Confessor! to thv secret ear Hath left a token or a trace, 

I breathe the soitows I bewail, Save what the father must not say 

And thank thee for the generous Vem "Who shrived him on his dying day* 

This glazing eve could never shed. This broken tale was all we knew 

Tbaa l»y me with the bumble*! dmi. Of ker k* ioTwJ, or hira he eiew. 



A TURKISH TALE.I 



' Had we never loved so kindly, 
Had we never loved so blindly, 
Never met or never parted, 
We had ne'er been broken-hearted." 

BOBXft 



^ftt nxitit of m^^os. 



CANTO THE FIRST. 



twow ye the land where the cypress and 

myrtle [clime, 

Are emblems of deeds that are done in their 

Where tne rage of the vulture, the love of the 

turtle, 
Now melt into son'ow,now madden to crime? 
Know ye the land of the cedar and vine, 
\Miere the flowers ever blossom, the beams 

ever shine : 
Where the light wings of Zephyr, oppress'd 

with perfume, 
Waxfainto'erthegardensof Gql3 in her bloom; 
WT)ere the citron and olive are fairest of fruit, 
And the voice of the nightingale never is mute : 
Where the tints of the eailh, and the hues of 

the sky, 
In oolom- though varied, in beauty may Tie, 
And the purple of ocean is deepest in dye ; 
Where the virgins are soft as the roses they 

twine. 
And all save the spirit of man, is divine? 
T is the clime of the E aiit ; 't is the land of the 

Sim — 
CftD he smile on such deeds as his children 

have done ? 
Oh ! wild as tnc accents <»f lovers' farewell 
Aro the hearts which they bear, and the tales 

which they telL 



Begirt with many v ^ailanl slaTe^ 
Apparell'd as becoiiU-j the brave, 
Awaiting each his lord's behest 
To guide his steps, or guai-d his rest, 
Old Giaffir sate in his Divan : 

Deep thought was in his aged ey^; 
And though the face of Mussulmas 

Not oft betraj-s to standers by 
The mind within, well skill'd to hile 
All but unconquerable pride, 
His pensive cheek and pondering brow 
Did more than he was wont avow. 



" Let the chamber be clear'd." — The train di» 

appear' d — 
" Now call me the chief of the Haram guard.' 
With GiafRr is none but his only son, 

And tile Nubian aAvaiting the sire s award« 
" Haroun — when all the crowd that wait 
Are pass'd beyond the outer gate, 
(Woe to the head whose eye beheld 
My child Zuleika's face imveil'd!) 
Hence, lead my daughter from her tower; 
Her fate is lix'd this veiy hour: 
Yet not to her repeat my thought ; 
By me alone be duty taught!" 

" Pacha ! to hear is to obey." 
No more must slave to despot say — 
Then to the tower had ta'en his way. 
But here young Selim silence brake. 

First lowly readerir.g reverence meot; 
And downcast look'd, and gently spak% 

Still standing at the Pacha's feet; 
For son of Moslem must expire, 
Ere dare to sit before his aire ! 



16 



THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS. 



"Father! for fear that thou shouldst chide 
My sister, or lur sable guide, 
Know — for the fault, if fault there be, 
Was mine, then fall thy frowns on rae— 
So lovelily the morning shone, 

That — -let the old and weary sleep — 
I could not; and to view alone 

The fairest scenes of land and deep, 
With none to listen and reply 
To thoughts with which my heart beat high 
Were irksome — for whate'er my mood, 
In sooth T love not solitude ; 
I on Zuleika's slumber broke, 

And, as thou knowest that for me 

Soon turns the haram's gi-ating key, 
Before the guardian slaves awoke 
We to the cy}n-ess groves had flo^vn, 
And made earth, main, and heaven cm 

own! 
There linger'd we, beguiled too long 
With Mejnoun's tale, or Sadi's song;* 
Till I, who heard the <:leep tambom^ 
Beat thy Divan's E^proaching hour. 
To thee, and to u^y duty true, 
Warn'd by tb'^ sound, to greet thee flew. 
But thezc 2iuleika wanders yet — 
Nay, Father, rage not — nor forget 
That none can pierce that secret bower 
But those who watch the women's tower." 

IV. 

" Son of a slave " — the Pacha said — 
" From unbelieving mother bred, 
Vain were a father's hope to see 
Aught that beseems a man in thee. 
Thou, when tliine ann should bend the 
bow. 
And hurl the dart, and curb the steed. 
Thou, Greek in soul if not in creed. 
Must pore where babbling waters flow. 
And watch unfolding roses blow. 
Would that yon orb, whose matin glow 
Thy listleis eyes so much admire. 
Would lend thee something of his fire ! 
Thou, who would' St see this battlement 
By Clnistlan cannon piecemeal rent; 
Nay, tamely view old Stambol's wall 
Before the dogs of Moscow fall. 
Nor strike one stroke for life and death 
Against the curs of Nazareth ! 
Go — let thy less than woman's hand 
Assume the distatT — not the brand. 
But, Haroim ! — to my daughter speed : 
And hai-k — of thine own head take heed — 
If thus Zuleika oft takes wing — 
Thou seest y*n bow — it hath a string ! " 



No sound from Selim's lip was heard. 

At least that met old Giaffir's ear^ 
But every frowTi and every A'ord 
Pierced keener than a Christian's s,word. 

" Son of a slave ! — reproach'd with fear 

Those gibes had cost another dear. 
Son of a slave ! — and who my sire ? " 

Thus held his thoughts their dark career, 
And glances ev'n of more than ire 

Flash forth, then faintly disappear. 
Old Giaffir gazed upon his son 

And started ; for within his eye 
He read how much his %vi"ath had done; 
He saw rebellion there begun: 

" Come hither, boy — what, no reply? 
I mark thee — and I know thee too ; 
But there be deeds thou dar'st not do: 
But if thy beard had manlier length, 
And if thy hand had skill and strength., 
I 'd joy to see thee break a lance, 
Albeit against my o^vn perchance." 

As sneeringly these accents fell.- 
On Selim's eye he fiercely gazed: 

That eye retum'd him glance for glanoe. 
And proudly to his sire's was raised, ■ 

Till Giaffir's quail'd and shnank askano* • 
And why — he felt, but durst not tell. 
" Much I misdoubt this wayward boy 
Will on<; day work me more annoy: 
I never loved him from his birth, 
And — ^but his arm is little worth. 
And scarcely in the chase could cope 
With timid fawn or antelope, 
Far less would venture into strife 
Where man contends for fame and life— 
I would not trust that look or tone : 
No — nor the blood so near my own. 
That blood — he hath not heard — no m(M9>ai 
I '11 watch him closer than before. 
He is an Arab^ to my sight. 
Or Christian croj'ching in the fight- 
But, hark! — I hear Zuleika's voice; 

Like Houris' hymn it meets mine 6M 
She is the offspring of my choice; 

Oh ! more than ev'n her mother dear. 
With all to hope, and nought to fear— 
My Peri! ever welcome here! 
Sweet, as the desert fountain's wave, 
To lips just cool'd in time ta savt> — 

Such to my longing sight art thou; 
Nor can they waft to Mecca's shrine 
More thanks for life, tlian I for thine. 

Who blest thy birth, and bless thee now." 



THE BRIDE OF ABTDOS. 



17. 



Fair, as the first i>i;ii fell of womankind, 

When on that diead yet lovely serpent smiling, 
Whose image then was stamp'd upon her 
mind— [ing 

But once beguil'd — and ever more beguiU 
Dazzling, asthat, oh! too transcendent vision 
To Sorrow's phantom-peopled slumber given, 
'Vhen heart meets heart again in dreams Ely- 
si an 
And paints the lost on Earth revived in 
Heaven ; 
ooft as the memory of buried love ; [above; 
Pare, as the prayer which Childhood wafts 
Was she — the daughter of that rude old Chief, 
Who met the maid with tears — but not of grief. 

Who hath not proved how feebly words essay 
To fix one spark of Beauty's heavenly ray ? 
Who doih not feel, untiT his failing sight 
Faints into dimness with its own delight, 
His changing cheek, his sinking heart confess 
The might — the majesty of Loveliness? 
Such was Zuleika — such around her shone 
The nameless charms unmark d by her alone; 
The light of love, the purity of grace. 
The mind, the Music breuthing from her face. 
The heart whose softness harmonized the 

whole — 
And, oh! that eye was in itself a Soul! 

Her graceful ai-ms in meekness bending 
Across her gently-buddirtg breast ; 

At one Kind Avord those amis extending 
To clasp the neck of him v/ho blest 
His child caressing and carest, 
Zuleika came — and Giaffir felt 
His puqiose half within him melt : 
Not that against her fancied weal 
His heart though stern could ever feel ; 
Affection chain'd her to'that heart; 
Ambition tore the links apail. 



" Zuleika! child of gentleness ! 
How dear this very day must tell, 

Wlien I forget my owti distress, 
In losing what I love so well. 
To bid thee with another dwell: 
Another! and a braver man 
Was never seen in battle's van. 

We Moslem reck not much of blood ; 
But yet the line of Carasman" 

Unchanged, unchangeable hath stood 
First of the bold Timariot bands 

That won and well can keep their lands 



Enough that he who comes to woo 

Is kinsman of the Bey Oglou : 

His years need scarce a ihouglt employ . 

I would not have thee wed a boy. 

And thou shalt have a noble dower: 

x\nd his and my united power 

Will laugh to scorn the death-firman, 

Which others tremble but to scan. 

And teach the messenger^ what fate 

The bearer of such boon may wait. 

And now thou know'st thy father's will; 

All that thy sex hath need to know. 
'T was mine "to teach obedience still — 

The way to love, thy lord may show." 



In silence bow'd the virgin's head ; 

And if her eye was filled with tears 
That stifled feeling dare not shed, 
And changed her cheek from pale to red, 

And recJ to pale, as through her ears 
Those winged words like arrows sped, 

What could such be but maiden fea^8 ? 
So bright the tear in Beauty's eye, 
Love half regrets to kiss it dry ; 
So sweet the blush of Bashfulness.. 
Even Pity scai'ce can wish it kss : 

Whate'er it was the sire forgot ; 

Or if remember'd, mark'd it not; 

Thrice clapp'dhishands, and call'dhissteeji^ 
Resign'd his gem-adorn'd chibouque,'** 

And mounting featly for the mead, 
With MaugrabeeH and Mamaluke, 
His way amid his Delis took,'^ 

To witness many an active deed 

With sabre keen, or blunt jeiTeed. 

The Kislar only and his Moors 

Watch well the Hai-am's massy doora. 



His head was leant upon his hand. 

His eye look'd o'er the dark blue watCT 
That swiftly glides and gently swells 
Between the winding Dardanelles ; 
But yet he saw nor sea nor strand, 
Nor even his Pacha's turbau'd band 

Mix in the game of mimic slaughter, 
Careering cleave the folded fcl)'-^ 
With sabre stroke I'ight shai-ply dealt ; 
Nor mark VI the javelin-flarting crowd, 
Nor heard their Ollahs'"* ^\^ld and loud — 
He thought but of old Giaffir's daughter 



No word from Selim's bosom broke ; 
One sigh Zuh.-ika's thought bespoke: 



18 



THE BREDE OF ABYDOS. 



StiH gazed he through the hittice grate 
Pale, mute, and moiu-nfully sedate. 
'J"o hint Zuleikas eye was tum'd, 
But little from his aspect learn'd ; 
Equal her giief, yet not the same ; 
Her heart confess'd a gentler flame: 
But yet that heart, alami'd or weak. 
She knew not why, forbade to speak. 
Yet speak she must — ^but when essay ? 
"How strange he thus should turn away! 
Not thus we e'er before have met ; 
Not thus shall be our parting yet" 
Thrice paced she slowly througn the room, 

And watcli'd his eye — it still was fix'd • 

She snatch'd the urn wherein was mix d 
The Persian Atar-gul's'^ perfume. 
And sprinkled all its otlours o'er 
The pictured roof 16 and marble floor: 
The drops, that through his glittering vest 
The playful girl's appeal address'd. 
Unheeded o'er his bosom flew, 
As if that breast were marble too. 
"What, sullen yet? it must not be — 
Oh! gentle Selim, this from thee!" 
She saw in curious order set 

The fairest flowers of eastern land — 
** He lov'd them once ; may touch tjiem yet, 

If oflfer'd by Zuleika's hand." 
The childish thought was hardly breathed 
Before the rose was pluck'd and ^\Teathed j 
The next fond moment saw her seat 
Her fairy fonn at Selim's feet : 
" This rose to calm my brother's cares 
A message from the Bulbul bears ; 
It says to-night he will prolong 
For Selim's ear his sweetest song; 
And though his note is somewhat sad. 
He '11 try for once a strain more glad, 
With some faint hope his alter' d lay 
May sing these gloomy thoughts away. 



What ! not receive my foolish flower ? 

Nay then I am indeed unblest: 
On me can thus thy forehead lower? 

And know' St thou not who loves thee best. 
Oh, Selim dear! oh, more than deai'estl 
Bay, is it me thou hat'st or fearest? 
Come, lay thy head iipon my breast, 
And I will kiss thee into rest. 
Since words of mine, and songs must fail, 
Ev'n from my fable<l nightingale 
I knew our sire at times was stem, 
But this from thee had yet to learn- 
Too well 1 know he loves thee not ; 
i*ut is Zuleika's love forgot? 



Ah. deem I right? the Pacha's plan— 
This kinsman Bey of Carasman 
Perhaps may prove some foe of thine: 
If so, I sweai- by Mecca's sluinc, 
If shi'ines that ne'er apprcajh allow 
To woman's step admit he- vow, 
W^ithout thy free consent, command, 
The Sultan should not have my hand . 
Think'st tliou that I could bear to part 
With thee, and learn to halve my heaitJ 
Ah ! were I sever'd from thy side, • 
Where were thy friend — and who my guide ' 
Years have not seen. Time shall not see 
The horn* that teai's my soul from thee : 
Even Azraell^, from his deadly quiver 

When flies that shaft, and fly it must. 
That parts all else, shall dc>om for ever 

Oui" heaits to imdivided dust ' " 

XII. 

He lived— he breathed — he moved — he felt; 
He raised the maid from where she knell; 
His trance was gone — his keen eye shone 
With thoughts that long in darkness dwelt; 
With thoughts that bui-n — hi rays that melt. 
As the sti-eam late conceal'd 

By the fringe of its willows. 
When it rushes reveal 'd 

In the light of its billows; 
As the bolt bursts on high 

From the black cloud that bound it, 
Flash'd the soul 6i that eye 

Through the long lashes round it. 
A wai-horse at the Uumpet's sound, 
A lion roused by heedless hound, 
A tyrant waked to sudden strife 
By gi-aze of ill-directed knife. 
Starts not to more convulsive life 
Than he, who heard that vow, disj>iay'd. 
And all, before repress'd, betray'd : 
" Now thou ait mine, for ever mine, 
Withlifetokeep, and scarce with life resign 
Now thou art mine, that sacred oath. 
Though sworn by one, hath bound m both 
Yes, londly, wisely hast thou done ; 
That vow hath saved more headsthantm^i 
But blench not thoii— thy simplest tress 
Claims more from me than tenderness ; 
I would not wrong the slenderest hair 
That clusters round thy forehead fair, 
For all the treasures bm-ied far 
Witliin the caves of Istakar.lS 
I'his morning clouds upon me lower'd, 
Reproaches on my head were shower*^ 
And Giaffir almost call d me cowajed I 



THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS. 



19 



Now I have motive to be brave ; 

The son of his neglected slave, 

Nay, start not, 't was the term he gave, 

May show, though little apt to vannt, 

A heart his words nor deeds can daunt 

His son, indeed ! — yet, thanks to thee, 

Perchmce I am, at least shall be; 

But let our plightetl secret vow 

Be only known to us as now. 

I know the \\Tetch who dares demand 

From Giaffir thy reluctant hand ; 

More ill got wealth, a meaner soul 

Holds not a Musselim's^^ conti-ol: 

Was he not bred in Egi-ipo?20 

A viler race let Israel show ; 

But let that pass— to none be told 

Our oath ; the rest shall time unfold. 

To me and mine leave Osman Bey ; 

I 've partisans for peril's day : 

Think not I am what I appear ; 

I 've anns, and friends, and vengeance near." 



'Think not thou art what thou appearest! 

My Selim, thou art sadly changed: 
This mom I saw thee gentlest, dearest ; 

But now thon *rt from thyself estranged 
My love thou surely knew'st before, 
It ne'er was less, nor can be more. 
To see thee, hear thee, neai" thee stay, 

And hate the night I know not why, 
Save that we meet not but by day ; 

With thee to live, witli thee to die, 

I dare not to my hope deny : 
Thy cheek, thine eyes, thy lips to kiss, 
Like this — and this — no more than this; 
For. Alia ! sure thy lips are flame : 

What fever in thy veins is flushing? 
My o\A'n have nearly caught the same, 

At least I feel my cheek too blushing. 
7o soothe thy sickness, watch thy health, 
Vartake, but never waste thy wealth. 
Or stand with smiles unmurmuring by. 
And ligliten half thy poverty ; 
Do all but close thy dving eye, 
For that I could not live to try ; 
To these alone my thoughts aspire : 
.More can I do? or thou require? 
But, Selim, tbou must answer why 
We need so much of mystery ? 
The cause I cannot dream nor tell, 
But be it, since thou say'st 't is well ; 
Yetwhatthoumean'stby' arms' and'frienda, 
Beyond my weaker sense extends. 



I meant that Giaffir shotud have heard 

The veiy vow I piighted thee ; 
His wrath would not revoke my word: 

But surely he would leave me free. 

Gan tliis fond wish seem strange in me, 
To be what I have ever been ? 
What other hath Zuleika seen 
From simple childhood's earliest hour? 

What other can sae seek to see 
Than thee, companion of her bower, 

The partner of her infancy ? 
These cherish'd thoughts, w^th life begun. 

Say, why must I no more avow ? 
What change is wrought to make me shun 

The tiiith ; my pride, and thine till now f 
To meet the gaze of stranger's eyes 
Our law, oui' creed, our God denies; 
Nor shall one wandering thought of mine 
At such, our Prophet's will, repine: 
No ! happier made by that decree ! 
He left me all in leaving thee. 
Deep were my anguish, thus compell'd 
To wed with one I ne'er beheld : 
This wherefore should I not reveal? 
Why wilt thou urge me t( conceal ? 
I know the Pacha's haugh mood 
To thee hath never boded go-od ; 
And he so often storms at nojght, 
Alia ! forbid that e'er he ought! 
And why I know not, but within 
My heart concealment weighs like sin- 
If then such secrecy be crime, 

And such it feels while hu-king here ; 
Oh, Selim ! tell me yet in time. 

Nor leave me thus to thoughts of fear 
Ah ! yonder see the Tchocaddr^', 
My father leaves the mimic war; 
I tremble now to meet his eye — 
Say, Selim, canst thou tell me why ?' 

XIV. 

' Zuleika — to thy tower's retreat 
Betake thee — Giaffir I can greet; 
And now with him I fain must prate 
Of firmans, impost, levies, state. 
There's fearful news from Danube's bank% 
Our Vizier nobly thins his ranks. 
For M'hich the Giaour may give him thanks! 
Our Sultan hath a shorter way 
Such costly triumph to repay. 
But, mark me, when the twilight dnim 

Hath wam'd the troops to food and sle^ 
Unto thy cell will Selim come: 

Then softly from the Haram creep 

Where we may wander by the deep. 

Our gai-den-batUements are steep; 

c 2 



10 



THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS. 



Nor these will rash intruder climb 
To list our words, or stint our time ; 
And if he doth, I want not steel 
Which some have feit, and more may feci. 
Then shalt thou learn of Selim more 
Than thou hiist heard or thought before: 
Trust me, Zuleika — fear not me ! 
Thoi know'st I hold a haram key. *• 

" Fear thee, my Sclim I ne'er till now 
Did word like this — " 

" Delay not thou; 
I keep the key — and Haroun's guard 
Have some, and hope of inore reward 
fo-nighl, Zuleika, thou shalt bear 
My tale, my pui-pose, and my fear • 
I am not, love 1 what I appear." 



CANTO THB SECOHIX 



The winds are high on Helle's waves, 

As on tliat night of storaiy water 
When Love, who sent, forgot to save 
The young, the beautiful, the brave, 

The lonely hope of Sestos' daughter. 
Oh ! when alone along the sky 
Her tunet-torch was blazing high, 
Though rising gale, and breaking foam, 
And shi-ieking sea-birds warn'd him home ; 
And clouds aloft and tides below, 
With signs and sounds, forbade to go, 
He could not see, he would not hear, 
Or sound or sign foreboding fear; 
His eye but saw that light of love, 
The only stai* it hail'd above ; 
His ear but rang with Hero's song, 
" Ye waves, divide not lovers long T' — 
That tale is old, but love anew 
M?y nerve yomig heaits to prove as true. 



The winds aie high, and Helle's tide 
Rolls darkly heaving to the main ; 
And Night's descending shadows hide 

That field with blood bedew'd in vain. 
The desert of old Priam's pride , 
The tombs, sole relics of his reign, 
ill — save immortal dreams that could beguil 
Che blind old man of Scio's rocKy isle ! 



Oh ! yet — foi there my steps have been ; 

These feet have press'd the sacred abcm^ 
These limbs that buoyant wave hath bom©— 
Minsti-el 1 with thee to muse, to mourn. 

To trace again those fields of yore, 
Believing every hillock green 

Contains no fabled hero's ashes, 
And that around the undoubted scene 

Thine own"broadHellespont" stilldashes. 
Be long my lot! and cold were he 
W^iio there could gaze denying thee ! 



The night hath closed on Helle's stream. 

Nor yet hath risen on Ida's hill 
That moon, which shone on his high theme: 
No warrior cliides her peaceful beam. 

But conscious shepherds bless it still. 
Their flocks are giazing on the mound 
Of him who felt the Dardan's arrow; 
That mighty heap of gather'd gi-ound 
Which Ammon's son ran proudly round,* 
By nations raised, by menarchs cro-wTi'd, 
Is now a lone and nameless baiTow I 
Within — thy dwelling-place how namiw 
Without — can only strangers breathe 
The name of him that was beneath : 
Dust long outlasts the storied stone : 
But Thou — thy veiy dust is gone! 



Late, late to-night will Dian cheer 

The swain, and chase the boatman's feaj • 

Till then — no beacon on the cliif 

May shape the course of struggling skiff; 

The scattcr'd lights that skirt the bay. 

All, one by one, have died away ; 

The only lamp of this lone hour 

Is glimmering in Zuleika's tower. 

Yes ! there is light in that lone chamber. 

And o'er her silken Ottoman 
Are thrown the fragment beads of amber, 

O'er which her fairy fingers ran; 23 
Near these, with emerald rays beset, 
(How could she thus that gem forget?) 
Her mother's sainted amulet,2-i 
\\liereon engraved the Koorsee text, 
Cou.d smooth this life, end win the next; 
And by her comboloio^- lies 
A Koran of illumined dyes; 
And many a bright emblazon'd rhyme 
By Persian scribes redeem'd from time; 
And o'er those scrolls, not oft so mute. 
Reclines uer now neglected Uite ; 



THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS. 



2] 



And round her lamp of fretted gold 

Bloom liov/ers in urns of China's mould; 

The richest work of Iran's loom. 

And Sheeraz tribute of perfume. 

All that can eye or sense ilcliglit 

Are galher'd in that gorgeous room : 
15ut yet it hath an air of gloom. 

She, of this Peri cell the sprite, 

What doth she hence, and on so rude a night? 

VI. 

Wrapt in the darkest sable vest, 

Which none save noblest Moslem wear, 
To guard from winds of heaven the breast 

As heaven itsell" to Selim dear, 
With cautious steps the thicket thi-eading. 

And stai-ting oft, as througli the glade 

The gust its hollow meanings made. 
Till on the smoother pathway treading. 
More free her tinrid bosom beat. 

The maid pursued her silent guide ; 
And though her terror urged retreat, 

How could she quit her Selim's side? 

How teach her tender lips to chide? 



What may this mean ? she tum'd lo se«4 
Her Selim — " Oh I can this be he?" 



His robe of piide was thrown aside, 

His brow no high-crown'd turban bore, 
But in its stead a shawl of red, 

Wreatlied lightly rouiid; his temples won 
That dagger, on whose hilt the gem 
Were worthy of a diadem. 
No longer glitter'd at his waist, 
Where pistols unadorn'd were braced ; 
And from his belt a sabre swiaig. 
And from his shoulder loosely hung 
The cloak of white, the thin capote 
That decks the wandering Candiotc; 
Beneath — his golden plated vest 
Clung like a euirass to his breast ; 
The gi'eaves below his knee that wound 
With silvery scales were sheathed andboi. ««d 
But were it not that high command 
Spake in his eye, and tone, and hand. 
All that a cai'eless eye could see 
In him was some young Galiongee.*^ 



They reach'd at length a gi'otto, hewn 

By nature, but enlarged by art, 
Where oft her lute she wont to tune, 
And oft her Koran conn'd apai't; 
And oft in youthful reverie 
She dream'd what Paradise might be : 
Where woman's pmtcd soul shall go 
Her Prophet had disdain'd to show ; 
But Selim's mansion was secure, 
Nor deem'd she, could he long endure 
H's bower in other worlds of bliss. 
Without her, most beloved in this! 
Oh! who so dear with him could dwell? 
What Houii soothe him half so well? 

VIII. 

Since last she visited the spot 

Some change seem'd WTought within the grot 

It might be only that the night 

Disguised things seen by better light : 

That brazen lamp but dimly thi'ew 

A ray of no celestial hue ; 

But in a nook within tlie cell 

Her eye on sti'anger objects fell. 

There anns were piled, not such as wield 

The turban'd Delis in the field ; 

But brands of foreign blatle and hill, 

And one was red — perchance with guilt! 

ahl how without can blo(jd be spilt? 

A cup loo on the boaid was se- 

That did not seem to hold sherbet 



" I said I was not what I seem'd; 

And now thou see'st my words were trtv 
I have a tale thou hast not dream'd. 
If sooth — its truth must others rue. 
My story now 'twere vain to hide, 
I must not see thee Osman's biide: 
But had not thine owii lips declared 
How much of that yomig heait I shared 
I could not, must not, yet have shown 
The darker secret of my own. 
In this " speak not now of love : 
That, let time, truth, and peril pi-ove* 
But Lisi — Oh I never wed anotlier — 
Zuleika! I am not thy brother I" 

XI. 

" Oh ! not my brother I — ^yet unsay — 

God! am I left alone on earth 
To moum — I dare not curse — the day 

That saw my solitary biith? 
Oh ! thou wilt love me now no more ! 

My sinking heart foreboded ill; 
But know me all I was before, 

Thy sister — friend — Zuleika still 
Thou led' St me here perchance to kill; 

If thou hast cause for vengeance, sa* 
My breast is olfcr'd — take thy fill ! 

Far better with the de<ul to be 

Than live thus nothing now to the*' 
rerhaps fai' worse, for now I know 
Way Giailir always seemd thy foe: 



22 



THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS. 



And ' alas! am Giaffir's child, 
For M'hom thou weit contemn' d, reviled 
If not thy sister — would' st thou save 
My life, oh ! bid me be thy slave !" 



" My slave. Zideika ! — nay, I 'm thine : 

But, genJe love, this transport calm, 
Thy lot shall yet be link'd with mine ; 
I swear it by our Prophet's shnne, 

And be that thought thy sorrow's balm. 
So may the Koran 2' verse display' d 
Upon its steel direct my blade, 
In danger's hour to guard u^ both, 
As I preserve that awful oath! 
The name in which thy heart hath prided 

Must change; but, my Zuleika, know, 
That tie is widen'd, not divided, 

Although thy Sire's my deadliest foe. 
My father was to Giaffir all 

That Selim late was deem'd to thee; 
Til at brother wrought a brothei''s fall, 

But spared, at least, my infancy; 
And lull'il me with a vain deceit 
That yet a like return may meet. 
He rear'd me, not with tender help. 

But like the nephew of a Cain ; 28 
He watch'd me like a lion's whelp. 

That gnaws and yet may break his chaia 

My father's blood in every vein 
Is boiling ; but for thy dear sake 
No present vengeance will I take ; 

Though here I must no more remain. 
But first, beloved Zuleika! hear 
How Giaffir wTOught this deed of fear. 



"How first their strife to rancom- grew, 

If love or envy made them foes, 
It matters little if I knew; 
In fiery spirits, slights, though few 

And thoughtless, will distmb repose. 
In war Abdallah's arm was strong, 
Rcrtember'd yet in Bosniac song. 
And Paswan's29 rebel hordes attest 
How little love they bore such guest-: 
His death is all I need relate. 
The stern effect of Giaffir's hate; 
And hew my birth disclosed to me, 
Whale cr beside it makes, hath made me free. 



'* VTien Paswan, after years of strife, 
A I last for power, but first for life, 
I»- Widin s walls too proudly sate, 
O" • Pa<;has rallied roimd the Ktat«; 



Nor last nor least in high comn and. 
Each brother led a separate band; 
They gave tlieir horsetails 30 to the wind. 

And mustering in Sophia's plain 
Their tents were pitch'd, their ^jost a,ss:gn''i j 

To one, alas ! assign'd in vain ! 
What need of words ? the deadly bow^. 

By Giaffir's order drugg'd and given. 
With venom subtle as his soul, 

Dismiss'd Abdallali's hence to heaven 
Reclined and feverish in the bath, 

He, when the hunter's sport was up. 
But little deem'd a brother's wrath 

To quench his thirst had s.'ch a cup : 
The bowl a bribed attentlant bore ; 
He drank one draught,"" nor needed more - 
If thou my tale, Zuleika, doubt, 
CaU Haroun — he can tell it out 

»▼. 

"The deed once done, and Paswa:i's feud 
In part suppress'd, though ne' er subdued, 

Abdallah's Pachalick was gain'd : — 
Tliou know' St not what in oui" Divan 
Can wealth procure for worse than mau — 

Abdallah's honoiu-s were obtain 'd 
By him a brother's murder stain' d ; 
T is true, the purchase nearly ckain'd 
His ill got treasure, soon replaced. 
Woidd'st question whence? Sm^ey the wast* 
And ask the sc^ualid peasant how 
His gains repay his broiling brow! — 
Why me the stem usurper spaixd, 
Why thus with me his palace shared, 
I know not. Shame, regret, remorse. 
And little fear from infant's force; 
Besides, adoption as a son 
By him whom Heaven accorded none. 
Or some imknown cabal, caprice, 
Preserved me thus ; — but not in peace: 
He cannot curb his haughty mood. 
Nor I forgive a father's blood- 



" Within thy father's house are foes; 

Not all who oreak his bread are true: 
To these should I my birth disclose, 

His days, his very hours were few : 
They only want a heart to lead, 
A hand to point them to the deed. 
But Haroun only knows, or knew 

This talc, whose close is almost nigb: 
He in Abdallah's palace grew, 

And held that post in his Serai 

"WTiich holds he here — ^he saw him <£M 
But whs' cQul^ "single slavery do? 



THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS. 



23 



Avengs his lord? alas! too late; 
Or save his son from such a fate ? 
He chose the last, and when elate 

With foes subdued or friends bctray'd, 
Proud Giaflir in high triumph sate, 
He led me helpless lo his gate, 

And not in vain it seems essay'd 

To save the life for vrhich he pray'd. 
The knowledge of my birth secured 

From all and each, but most from me ; 
Tlius Giaffir's safety was ensured. 

Removed he too from Roumelie 
To this our Asiatic side, 
Far from our seats by Danube's tide, 

With none but Haroun, who retains 
Such knowledge — and that Nubian feels 

A tyrant's secrets are but chains. 
From which the captive gladly steals, 
And this and more to me reveals: 
Such still to guilt just Alia sends — 
Slaves, tools, accomplices — no friends ! 



xvri. 

''All this, Zuleika, harshly sounds; 

But harsher still my tale must be : 
Howe'er my tongue thy softness wounds, 

Yet I must prove "all truth to thee. 

I saw thee start this garb to see, 
Vet is it one I oft have woit., 

And long must wear : this Galiongee, 
To whom thy plighted vow is sworn. 

Is leader of those ])irate hordes, 

Whose laws and lives are on their swords ; 
To hear whose desolating tale 
Would make thy waning cheek more pale: 
Those anns thou sec'st my band have brought, 
The hands that wield are not remote ; 
This cup too for the nigged knaves 

Is fili'd — once quatTd, they ne'er repine : 
Our prophet might forgive the slaves; 

They 're onlv infidels in wine. 



XVIII. 
" ^Tiat could I be? Proscribed at home, 
And taunted to a wish to roam ; 
And listless left — for Giaffir's fear 
Denied the com-ser and the spear — 
Though oft — Oh, Mahomet! how oft! — 
In full Divan the de pot scotFd, 
As if my weak unwilling hand 
Refused the bridle or the brand • 
He ever went to war alone, 
And pent me here untried — unknown; 
To Haroun's care with women left, 
By hope unblest, of fame bereft. 



Wliile thou — whose softness long endear' 1 
Though it unmann'd me, still had chccrd— 
To Brusa's walls for safety sent, 
Awaitedst there the field's event. 
Haroun, who saw my .spirit pining 

Beneath inaction's sluggish joke. 
His captive, though with dread resigning, 

My thraldom for a season broke, 
On promise to return before 
The day when Giatfir's charge was o'er. 
'T is vain — my tongue can not impart 
My almost drunkenness of heart, 
When first this libei'ated eye 
Survey'd Earth, Ocean, Sun, and Sky, 
As if my spirit pierced them througli. 
And all their inmost w-onders knew ! 
One word alone can paint to thee 
That more than feeling — I was Free! 
E'en for thy presence ceased to pine; 
The World — nay. Heaven itself was mine 

XIX. 

' The shallop of a trusty Moor 
Convey'd me from this idle shore; 
I long'd to see the isles that gem 
Old Ocean's purple diadem : 
I sought by turns, and saw them all ;3» 

But when and where I join'd the crew 
With whom I 'm jledg'd to rise or fall, 

When all that we design to do 
Is done, 't will then be time more meet 
To tell thee, when the tale 's complete. 

XX. 

' T is true, they are a lawless brood. 
But rough in fonn, nor mild in mood ; 
And <;very creed, and every race. 
With th.^ra hath found — may find a ])lace 
But open speech, and ready hand. 
Obedience to their chiefs command ; 
A soul for every cntei-],)rise. 
That never sees wnth tcnw's eyes; 
Friendship for each, and faith to all. 
And vengeance vow'd for those who fall. 
Have made them fitting instruments 
Far more than ev'n my owtl i.ntents. 
And some — and I have studied all 

Distinguish'd from the vulgar rank, 
But chiefly to my council call 

The wisdom of the cautious Frank— 
And some to higher thoughts aspire, 

The last of I.ambro'.s33 patriots there 

Anticipated freedom share ; 
And oft around the cavern fire 
On visionary schemes debate, 
'i'o snatch the Rayahs34 from their fate. 
So let them ca&( their hearts witli prate 



24 



THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS. 



Of equal rights, which man ne'er knew ; 
I have a love foj freedom too. 
Ay let me like the ocean-Patriarch35 roam, 
Or only know on land the Tartar s home '.36 
My tent on shove, my galley on the sea, 
i\re more than cities and Serais to me : 
Borne by my steed, or wafted by my sail, 
Across the deseit, or before the gale. 
Bound where thou wilt, my barb 1 or glide, my 

prow ' 
But be the star that guides the wanderer, Thou ! 
Thou, my Zuleika, share and bless my bark; 
The Dove of peace and promise to mine ark ! 
Or, since that hope denied in worlds of strife, 
Be thou the rainbow to the stoi-ms of life ! 
The evening beam thai smiles the clouds away, 
,\nd tints to-morj ow with prophetic ray ! 
gigst — tis the Muezzin's strain from Mecca's 

wall 
To pilgrims pure and prostrate at his call; 
Soft— as the melody of youthful days, 
That steals the trembling teai- of speechless 

praise ; 
Dear — as his native song to Exile's ears, 
Shall sound each tone thy long-loved voice 

end'^ars. 
For thee in those bright isles is built a bower 
Blooming as Aden^* in its earliest hour. 
A thousand swords,withSe]im'sheart and hand, 
Wait — wave — defend — destroy — at thy com- 
mand I 
liirt ny my band, Zuleika at my side. 
The spoil of nations shall bedeck my bride. 
The Haram's languid years of listless ease 
Are well resign'd for cares — for joys like these . 
Not blind to fate, I see, where'er I rove, 
Unnumber'd perils, — but one only love ! 
Yet well my toils shall that fond breast repay, 
Though fortune frown, or falser friends betray. 
How dear the dream in darkest hours of ill, 
Should all be changed, to find thee faithful still ! 
Be but thy soul, like Selim's, fimily shown ; 
To thee be Selim's tender as thine own ; 
To soothe each sorrow, share in each delight, 
Blend everj^ thought, do all — but disimite! 
Once free, "t is mine our horde again to guide : 
Friends to each other, foes to aught beside: 
Yet there we follow but the bent assign'd 
By fatal Nature to man's wamng kind : 
Mark ! where his cainage and his conquests 

cease I 
Pc makes a solitude, and calls it — peace ! 
1 like the rest must use my skill or strength, 
Ent ask no land beyond my sabre's length : 
Power sways but In' division — lier resource 
The h'«s a'teniative of fraud or <'orce! 



Ours be the last; in time decnt may come 
"When cities cage us in a social liome: 
There ev'n thy soul might eiT — how oft the heat! 
Corruption shakes which peril could not part 
And woman, more than man, when death or wof 
Or even disgrace, would lay her lover lew 
Sunk in the lap of luxury will sliame — 
Away suspicion I — not Zuleika's nam.e! 
But life is hazard at the best ; and here 
No more remains to win, and much to ft»tir: 
Yes, fear ! — the doubt, the dread of losi'ia thee. 
By Osman's power, and Giaffir's stem decree. 
Thatdread shall vanish with the favouring gal« 
"NVhich Love to-night hath promised to my saih 
No danger daunts the pair his smile hath blest. 
Their steps still roving, but tlieir hearts at rest. 
With thee all toils are sweet, each clime hath 

chai-ms ; 
Earth — sea alike — our world within our anus! 
A J' — let the loud winds w'histle o'er the aecK, 
So that those anns cling closerrouud my neck 
The deepest munnur of this lip shall be 
No sigh for safely, but a prayer for thee ! 
The war of elements no fe^rs impart 
To Love, whose deadliest bane is human Art 
There lie the only rocks our course can check: 
Here moments menace — there are years 6L 

wreck! [.shapi! 

But hence ye thoughts that rise in HoiTor's 
This hour bestows, or ever bars escape. 
Few words remain of mine my tale to close 
Of thine but one to waft us from our foes ; 
Y'ea — foes — to me will Giaffir's hate decline? 
And is not Osman, who would part us, thine? 

XXI. 

"His head and faith from doubt and death 
Retum'd in time my guard to save ; 
Few heard, none told, that o'er the wave 
From isle to isle I roved the while : 
And since, though parted from my band, 
Too seldom now I leave the land, 
No deed they 've done, nor deed shall ck). 
Ere I have heard and doom'd it too: 
I forai the plan, decree the spoil, 
'T is fit I oftener share the toil. 
But now too long I "ve held thine ear; 
Time presses, floats my bai-k, and here 
We leave behind but hate and fear. 
To-moiTOW Osman with his train 
Arrives — to-night must break thy chain : 
And would'stthou save that haughty Bey, 
Perchance, hh life who gave thee thine; 
With me. this hour away — away ! 

But yet, though thou art plighted mine 
Would' dt thou recall thy willing tow, 
Appall'd by truths impailed now. 



THE BRIDE OF ^BYDOS. 



2D 



H ?re rest 1 - not to see thee wed 
But be tliat peril on my head ' ' 

XXII 

Zuleika, mute and motionle:*s, 

Stooil likf that statue of d.^tress, 

When, her last hope for ever gone. 

The mother harden'd into stone; 

All in the maid that eye could see 

Was but a yount!;er Niobe 

But ere ht-r lip, or even her eye, 

Essay'd to speak, or look reply, 

Beneath liie garden's wicket porch 

Far flashd on high a blazing torch! 

Another — and another — and another — 

" Oh I Hy — no more — yet now my more than 

brother!" 
Far, wide, through every thicket spread. 
The tearful lights are gleaming I'ed ; 
Nor these alone — for each right hand 
Is ready with a sheathless brand. 
They part, pursue, retmn, and wheel 
With searching flambeau, shining steel; 
And last of all, his sabre waving, 
Steni Giaflir in his fiuy raving : 
And now almost they touch the cave — 
Oh ! must that grot be Selim's gi'ave? 

XXITI. 

Dauntless he stood — "'Tis come — soon 

past — 
One kiss, Zuleika — tis my last: 

But yet my band not far from shore 
May hear this signal, see the flash ; 
Yet now too lew — the attempt were rash: 

No matter — yet one eflbrt more." 
Forth to the cavern mouth he stept; 

His pistol's echo rang on high, 
Zuleika started not, nor wept, 

Des])air benumb'd her breast and eye ! — 
" They hear me not, or if they ply 
Their oars, 'i is but to see me die ; 
That sound hath drawoa my foes more nigh, 
Tlicn forth my father's scimitar. 
Thou ne'er hast seen iess equal war ' 
Farewell, Zuleika I — Sweet ! retire : 

Yet stay within — here linger safe, 

At thee his rage will only chafe. 
Stir not — lest even to thee perchance 
Seme eiTiiig blade or ball should glance 
Fear'st thou for him? — may I expire 
If in this strife I seek thy sire ! 
No — though by him that poison pour'd : 
No — though agnin he call me coward! 
But tamely shall I meet their steel? 
No — as each crest save Ids may feel!" 



One bound he made, and gain'd the saiul 

Already at his feet hath sunk 
The foremost of the prying band, 

A gasping head, a quivering trunk • 
Another falls — but round him close 
A swamiing circle of his foes ; 
From right to left his path he cleft, 

And almost met the meeting wave : 
Hi.s boat appears — not five oars length — 
His comrades strain with desperate strength* 

Oh ! are they yet in time to save ? 
His feet the foremost breakers lave ; 
His band are plunging in the bay. 
Their sabres glitter thi-ough the spray : 
Wet — wild — unwearied to the strand 
They struggle — now they touch the land? 
They come — 'tis but to add to slaughter— 
His heail's best bloocMs on the water. 

x»v. 

Escaped from shot, unhaim'd by steel, 

Or scarcely grazed its force to feel. 

Had Selim won, betray'd, beset, 

To where the strand and billows met: 

There as his last step left the land, 

And the last death-blow dealt his hand — 

Ah ! wherefore did he tuni to look 

For her his eye but sought in vaiu? 
That pause, that fatal gaze he took, 

Hath doom'd his death, or fix'dhis<hain 
Sad proof, in peril and hi pain, 
How late will Lover's hope remain ' 
His back was to the dashing spray; 
Behind, but close, his comrades laj', 
W^hen, at the instant, hiss'd the ball — 
" So may the foes of Giaffir fail ! " 
Wliose voice is heard ? whose carbine rang* 
"NMiose bullet through the night-air sang, 
Too nearly, deadly ai^i'd to eiT? 
T is thine — Abdallah's INfurderer ! 
The father slowly rued thy hate, 
The son hath found a quicker fate : 
Fast from his breast the blood is bubbling 
The whiteness of the sea-foam troubling — 
If aught his lips essay'd to groan. 
The rushing billows choked the tone I 



Mom slowly rolls the clouds away ; 

Few trophies of the fight are there : 
The shouts that shook the midnight-b^ 
Are silent ; \jat some signs of fray 

That stj-and of strife mdy bear, 



26 



THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS. 



And fragments of each shiver'd brand; 
Steps stampM • and da.sh"d into the sand 
Thf y/iiif of many a struggling hand 

iviay there be mark'd ; nor far remote 

A broken torcii, an oarJess boat ; 
And tangled on the weeds that heap 
riie beacli where shelving to the deep 

There lies a white eapote ! 
T is rent in twain — one dark-red stain 
The wave yet rijjples o"er in vain : 

Bat where is he who wore? 
i^'e! who would o'er his relics weep. 
Go, seek them whei'e the surges sweep 
Their burthen round Sigajum's steep 

And cast on Lemnos' shore : 
The sea-birds shriek above the prey, 
O'er whici: their hungry beaks delay, 
As shaken on his restless pillow, 
His head heaves with the heaving billow; 
That hand, v-hose motion is not life, 
Yet feebly seems to menace strife. 
Flung by the tossing tide on high. 

Then levell'd with the wavers — 
What recks it, though that corse shall lie 

Within a living grave ? 
The bird that tears that prostrate foiiii 
Hath only robb'd the meaner wonn ; 
The only lieart, the only eye 
Had b'ed or wept to see him die, 
Had seen those scatter'd limbs composed, 

And mourn" d above his turban-stone,"'^^ 
Thathearthath burst — that eye wasclosed — • 

Yea — closed before his own ! 

XXVII. 

0y Helle's stream there is a voice of wail! 
A.nd woman's eye is wet — man's cheek is pale . 
Zuleika! last of Gialhr's race. 

Thy destined lord is come too late: 
He sees not — ne'er shall see thy face! 

Can he not hear 
The loud Wal-widleh40 -^vam his distant ear? 
'^hy handmaids weeping at the gate, 
The Koran-chanters of the hymn of fate, 
The silent slaves with folded aims, that wait, 
Sighs in the hall, and shiieks upon the gale, 

Tell him thy tal-.! 
Thou didst not view thy Selim fall ! 

That fearful moment when he left tlie cave 

Thy heart grew chill : 

He wa^ thy hope — thy joy — thy love — thine 

all — [not save 

And that last thought on him Ihou could' st 

Sufficed to kill; 

Burst foith in one wild !iy — and all was still. 

pRace to thjbroken heart, and virgin^ave! 



Ak! happy! but of life to lose tlic worst 
That gi-ief — though deep — though fata' — wa. 

thy first I 
Thrice happy ! ne'ei to feel nor fear the forct 
Of absence, shame, pride, hate, i-evenge, rt> 

morse I 
And, oh I that pang where more than madness 

lies I 
The worm that will not sleep — and never dies ; 
Thought of the gloomy day and ghastly 

night, 
That dreads the darkness, and yet loathes xhe 

light, 
That winds around, and tears the quivcriaf 

heart I 
Ah ! wherefore not consume it — and depart 1 
Woe to thee, rash and unrelenting chief! 
Vainly thou heap'st the dust upon thy head. 
Vainly the sackcloth o'er thy limbs dost 

spread ; 
By that same hand Abdallah — Selim bled. 
Now let it tear thy beard in idle grief: 
Thy pride of heart, thy bride for Osman't 

bed. 
She, whom thy sultan had but seen to wed. 
Thy Daughter's dead! 
Hope of thine age, thy twilight's IcneJy 

beam. 
The Star hath set that shone on Hefle'* 
stream. 
What quench'd its ray ? — the blood Uiat tho« 

hast shed! 
Hark ! to the hurried question of Despair; 
"Where is my child?" — an Echo a 
"Where? "41 



Within the place of thousand tombs 

That shine beneath, while dark above 
The sad but living cypress glooms, 

And withers not, though branch and leal 
Are stamp'd with an eternal grief, 

Like early unrequited Love, 
One spot exists, which ever blooms, 

Ev'n in that deadly gi-ove — 
A single rose is shedding there 

Its lonely lustre, meek and pale: 
It looks as planted by Despau- — 

So white — so faint — the slightest gaJo 
Might whirl the leaves on high ; 

And yet, though storms and blight assail 
And hands more rude than wintry skv 

May wring it from the stem — in vaii> ' 

Ta '■morrow sees it bjoom again 1 



THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS. 



27 



TLo stal'k some spu-it gently rears, 
And waters with celestial tears ; 

For well may maids of Helle deem 
That this can be no eaithly llower, 
VSTiieh mocks the tempest's withering hour, 
And buds unshelter'd by a bower; 
Nor droops, though spring refuse her shower, 

Nor woos the summer beam: 
To it the livelong night there sings 

A bird unseen — but not remote : 
Invisible his airy wings. 
But soft as hai-p that Houri sti-ings 

His long entrancing note ! 
It were the Bulbul ; but his throat, 

Though mournful, pours not such a strain : 
For they who listen cannot leave 
The spot, but linger there and grieve, 

As if they loved in vain ! 
And yet so sweet the tears they shed, 
'T is son-ow so unmix'd vnth dread, 
They scarce can bear the mom to break 

That melancholy spell, 
And longer yet would weep and wake, 

He sings so wild and well I 
But when the day-blush bursts from high 
Ei^es that magic melody. 



And some have been m ho could belies. 
(So fondly youthful dreams deceive. 

Yet harsh be they that blame,) 
That note so piercing and profound 
Will shape and syllable-*^ its sound 

Into Zuleika's name, 
'T is from her cj-press' summit heard, 
That melts in air the liquid word : 
T is from her lowly virgin earth 
That white rose takes its tender birth. 
There late was laid a marble stone; 
Eve saw it placed — the Morrow gone! 
It was no moi tal arm that bore 
That deep fixed pillar to the shore; 
For there, as Helle's legends tell, 
Nexfmom't was fomid where Selim fell; 
Lash'd by the tumbling tide, whose wave 
Deiried his bones a holier grave : 

And there by night, reclined, *t is said. 
Is seen a ghastly turban'd head : 
And hence extended by the billow, 
'T is named the "Pirate-phantom's ]nIlow!* 
Where first it lay that mourning -flow>cr 
Hath floiu-ished ; floiuisheth this hour, 
Alone and dewy, coldly pure and pale ; 
As weeping Beauty's cheek at Sorrow"* tale 



Wi)t Corsair; 



A TALE. 



I suoi pensieri in lui dormir non ponno." 

Tasso, Gerusalemme Liberata, canto Zi 



®6e Corsair.* 



CANTO THK FIRST. 



ne«sun maggior dolow, 



Che ricordarsi del tempo felice 
Nella miseria,- 



-Dantb. 



♦^ Ckr the glad waters of the dark bhie sea, 
Oiir thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free, 
Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam. 
Survey our empire, and behold oiu' home ! 
These are our realms, no limita to their sway— 
Oiu- flag the sceptre all who meet obey. 
Ours the wild life in tumult still to range 
From toil to rest, and joy in every change, 
Oii.who can tell? not thou, luxurious slave! 
Whose soul would sicken o'er the heaving wave, 
Not tliou, vain lord of wantonness and ease ! 
Whom slumber soothes not — pleasure cannot 

plea-se — 
Oh,who can tell, save he whose heart hath tried, 
And danced in D'iumph o'er the waters wide. 
The exulting sense — the pulses maddening 

That tlu-ills the wanderer of that trackless way ? 
That for itself can woo the approaching fight, 
And turn what some deem danger to delight; 
That seeks what cravens shun with more tlaan 

zeal, 
&Dd where the feeblei- faint — can only feel — 



/eel — to the rising bosom's inmost core, 
Its hope awaken and its spirit soar? 
ISo dread of death — if with us die our foes- 
Save that it seems even duller than repose: 
Come when it will — we snatch the life of life— 
'W^ieu lost — what recks it — by disease or strife? 
Let him who crawls enamour'd of decay, 
Cling to his couch, and sicken years away; 
Heave his thick breath, and shake his palsied 

head ; 
Oars — the fresh turf, and not the feverish bed- 
While gasp by gasp he falters forth his soul. 
Ours with one pang — one bound — escapes 

control. 
His corse may boast its urn and naiTow cave, 
And tliey who loath'd his life may gild his grave ; 
Ours are the tears, though few. sincerely shed, 
When Ocean shrouds and sep^ilchres our dead. 
For us, even banquets fond regret supply 
In the red cup that crowns our memory; 
And the brief epitaph in danger's day, 
When those who win atlenglh divide the prey. 
And cry, Remembrance saddening o'er each 

brow, 
How had the brave who fell exulletl now!" 



Such were the notes that from the Pirate's isle, 
Around the kindhng watch-fire rang the while: 
Such were the somid^ that thriU'd tlie rocks 

along. 
And unto ears as rugged seem'd a song' 
In scatter'd groups upon the golden sand, 
They game — carouse — converse — or whet the 

brand ; 
Select the arms — to each his blade assign, 
And careless eye the blood that dims its Aine 



THE CORSAIR. 



29 



Repair the boat, replace the helm or oar, 
While ethers straggling muse along the shore; 
For the wih^ bird the busy springes set, 
Or spr-aci beneath the sun the dripping net; 
Gi'./.y where some distant sail a speck sup*. Ues, 
With all the thirsting eye of Entei-j>rise ; 
Toll o'er the tales of many a night of toil, 
And marvel where they next shc.ll seize a spoil : 
No matter where — their chief's allotment this ; 
Theirs, to believe no prey nor plan amiss. 
But who that Chief? hisnaraeon every shore 
Is famed and fear'd — ^they ask and know no 

more. 
With these he mingles not but to command ; 
Few are his words, but keen his eye and hand. 
Ne'er seasons he with mirth their jovial mess, 
But they forgive his silence for success. 
Ne'er for his lip the purpling cup they fill, 
That goblet passes him un tasted still — 
And for his fare — the rudest of his crew 
Would that, in turn, have pass'd untastedtoo; 
Earth's coarsest bread, the garden's homeliest 

roots. 
And scarce the summer Inxuiy of fruits, 
His short repast in humbleness supply 
With all a heiTnit's boai'd would scarce deny 
But while he shuns the grosser joys of sense. 
His mind seems nourished by that .abstinence. 
" Steer to that shore I " — ^they sail. " Do this ! " 

— 't is done • 
" Now fonn and follow me !" — the spoil is won. 
Thus prompt his accents and his actions still. 
And all obey and few inquire his will ; 
n'o such, brief answer and contemptuous eye 
k)nTey reproof, nor fuither deign reply. 



* A sail !— a sail !" — a promised prize to Hope! 
3er nation — flag — ^how speaks the telescope ? 
No prize, alas ! — but yet a welcome sail: 
The blood-red signal glitters in the gale. 
Yes — she is ours — a home-returning bark- 
Blow fair, thou breeze ! — she anchors ere the 

dark. 
iJready doubled is the cape — our bay 
Receives that prow which proudly spurns the 

spray. 
How gloriously her gallant course she goes ! 
Her white wings flying — never from her foes — 
She walks the waters like a thing of life, 
And seems to dare the elements to strife. 
Who would not brave the battle-fire — the 

wreck — 
To move the monarch of her peopled deck ? 



IV. 

Hoarse o'er her side the rustling cable rings ; 
The sails are furl'd; and anchoring round shfO 

swings : 
And gathering loiterers on the land discern 
Her b )at . cscen<ling fiom the latticed stem. 
'T is raann'd — lae oars keep concert to the 

strand, 
Till gi'ates her keel upon the shallow sand. 
Hail to the welcome shout I — the friendly 

speech ! 
WTien hand grasps hand uniting on the beack; 
The smile, the question, and the quick reply. 
And the heart's promise of festivity! 



The tidings spread, and gathering grows Um 

crowd : • 

The hum of voices, and the laughter loud. 
And woman's gentler anxious tone is heard-^ 
Friends' — husbands' — ^lovers' names in each 

dear word : 
" Oh ! are they safe ? we ask not of success— 
B ut shall we see them ? will their accents bless? 
From where the battle roars — the billows 

chafe — 
They doubtless boldly did — ^but who are safe? 
Here let them haste to gladden and surprise, 
And kiss the doubt from tliese delighted eyes' 



VI. 

" Where is oar chief? for him we bear repwt^* 
And doubt that joy — which hails our coming*— 

short ; [bri^; 

Yet thus sincere — tis cheering, though m 
But, Juan ! instant guide us to our chief: 
Our greeting paid, we '11 feast on our return. 
And all shall hear what each may ^vish to leam." 
Ascending slowly by the rock-hewn way, 
To where his watch-tower beetles o'er the bay. 
By bushy brake and wild flowers blossoming. 
And freshness breathing from each silver 

spring, [burst, 

Whose scattered streams from granite basim 
Leap into life, and sparkling woo your thirst; 
From crag to cliflT they mount — Near yondcf 

cave, 
What lonely straggler looks along the wave? 
In pensive posture leaning on the brand, 
Not oft a resting-staflf to that red hand ? 
" 'Tishe — "tisConrad — here — as wont — aloae; 
On — Juan! — on — and make our purpos* 

known- [gJ««* 

The bark he views — and tell him we wrvjJc 
His ear with tidings he must quickly meet' 



THE CORSAIR. 



We dare not yet approach — thou know'st his 

mood, 
When strange or uninvited steps intrude.** 



Ilim Juan sought, and told of their intent; — 
He spake not — but a sign e\press'd assent. 
These Juan calls— they come— to their salute 
He bends him slightly, but his lips are mute. 
" These letters, Chief, are from the Greek — the 

spy. 
Who still proclaims our spoil or peril nigh : 
Whate'er his tidings, we can well report 
* Much that"—" Peace, peace !" — ^he cuts their 

prating shoit. [each 

Wondering they tmna, abash'd, while each to 
Conjecture whispers in his muttering speech : 
They watch his glance with many a stealing 

look. 
To gather how that eye the tidings took ; 
But, this as if he guess'd, with head aside. 
Perchance from some emotion, doubt, or pride, 
He read the scroll—" My tablets, Juan, hark — 
WTiere is Gonsalvo?" 

" In the anchor'd bark." 
There let him stay— to him this order beai-— 
Back to your duty— for my course prepare: 
Myself this enterprise to-night will share." 

" T<^!5lrt, Lord Conrad ? " 

"Ay! at siet of sun: 
Tht breeze will freshen when the day is done. 
My corslet — cloak — one hour — and we ai-e 

gone. 
Sling on thy bugle- -see that free from rust. 
My carbine-lock springs worthy of my trust ; 
Be" the edge shiu-pen'd of my boarding-brand. 
And give its guanl more room to fit my hand. 
This let the armourer with speed dispose ; 
Last time, it more fatigued my arm thcUi foes: 
Mark that the signal-gun be duly fired. 
To tell us when the hour of stay s expired." 



riipy make obeisance, and retire in haste. 
Too soon to seek again the watery waste 
Vel they repine not — so that Conrad guides ; 
And who dare question aught that he decides? 
That man of loneliness and mystery. 
Scarce seen to smile, and seldom heard to sigh ; 
Whose name appals tlie fiercest of his crew, 
And tints each swarthy cheek with sallow er hue; 
Still sways their souls with that commanding art 
•That dazzles, leads, yet chills the vulgar heart. 
What is that speil, that thus his lawless train 
Confess and envy, yet oppose in vain? 



Wliat should it be,that thus their faith can bind . 
The power of Taought — the magic of the Mind! 
Link'd v.ith success, assumed and kept with 

skill. 
That moulds another's weakness to its will ; 
Wields with then- hands, but, still to these un- 
known, [own, 
Makes even their mightiest deeds appear his 
Such hath it been — shall be — beneath the sun 
The many still must labour for the one I 
"Tis Nature's doom — but let the wTetch who 

toils, 
Accuse not, hate not 7(?m who wears the spoils 
Oh ! if he knew the weight of splendid chains, 
How light the balance of his humbler pains ' 



Unlike the heroes of each ancient race, 
Demons in act, but Gods at least in fa'«, 
In Conrad's form seems little to admire, 
Though his dark eyebrow shades a glance od 

fire : 
Robust but not Herculean — to the sight 
No giant frame sets forth his common height ; 
Yet, in the whole, who paused to look again, 
Saw more than marks the crowd of vulgar men ; 
They gaze and marvel how — and still confess 
That thus it is, but why they cannot guess. 
Sun-bumt his cheek, his forehead high and pale, 
The sable curls in wild profusion veil ; 
And oft perforce his rising lip reveals 
The haughtier thought it curbs, but scarce 

conceals. 
Though smooth his voice, and calm his genera! 
mien, [seen : 

Still seems there something he would not have 
His featnres' deepening lines and varying hu€ 
At times attracted, yet perjilex'd the view, 
As if within that murkiness of mind 
Work'd feelings fearful and yet undefined; 
Such might it be — that n(me could truly tell — 
Too close inquiry his stem glance would quell. 
There breathe but few whose aspect might detj 
The full encounter of his searching eye : 
He had the skill, when Cimning's gaze would 
seek [check. 

To nrobe his hefjrt and watch his changing 
At once the observer's purpose to espy. 
And on himself roll back his scrutiny. 
Lest he to Conrad rather should betray [day. 
Some secret thought, than drug that Aief^s to 
There was a laughing Devil in his sneer, 
That raised emotions both of rage and feai ; 
And where his frown of hatred darkly fell. 
Hope withering fled — and Mercy sigh'd fare 
well!3 



THE CORSAIR. 



Slight are the outward signs of evil thought, 
Within— within— 'twas there the spirit wrought! 
Lo^e shows all changes — Hate, Ambition, 

Guile, 
Betray no further than the bitter smile; 
'File ifp's leas., curl the lightest paleness thrown 
Along the govern'd aspect, speak alone 
Of deeper passions ; and to judge their mien, 
He, who would see, must be himself unseen. 
Then — with the hurried tread, the upward eye. 
The clenched hand, the pause of agony. 
That listens, starting, lest the step too near 
Approach intrusive on that mood of fear : 
Then — %vith each feature working from the 

heart, 
Withfeelingsloosed to strengthen — not depart: 
That rise — convulse — contend — that freeze or 

glow. 
Flush in the cheek, or damp upon the brow ; 
Then — Stranger ! if thou canst, and tremblest 

not. 
Behold his soul — the rest that soothes his lot! 
Mark — how that lone and blighted bosom sears 
The scathing thought of execrated years ! 
Behold — but who hath seen, or e'er shall see, 
"Mtz. as himself — the secret spirit free? 



Yet was not Conrad thus by Nature sent 
To lead the guilty — guilt's worse instrument — 
His soul was changed, before his deeds had 

driven 
Him forth to war with man and forfeitheaven. 
Warp'd by the world in Disappointment's 

school. 
In words too wise, in conduct there a fool ; 
Too finn to yield, and far too proud to stoop, 
Doom'd by liis very virtues for a dupe. 
He cursed those virtues as the cause of ill. 
And not the traitors who betray'd him still ; 
Nor deem'd that gifts bestow'd on better men 
Had left him joy, and means to give again. 
Fcor'd — shunn'd — belied — ere youth had lost 

her force, 
He hated man too much to feel remorse, 
And thought the voice of wrath a sacred call. 
To pay the injuries of some on all. 
He knew himself a villain — but he deem'd 
The rest no better than the thing he seem'd; 
And scorn'd the best as hj'pocrites who hid 
Those deeds the bolder spirit plainly did. 
He knew himself detested, but he knew 
The hearts that loath'd him, crouch'd and 

dreaded too 



Lone, wild, and strange, he stood alike exv-rapl 
From all affection and from aM contempt: 
His name could sadden, and his aets surprise; 
But they that fear'd him dai-ed not to despise : 
Man si)ums the wonn, but pauses ere he wake 
The slumbering venom of the folded snake ; 
The first may turn — but not avenge the blow; 
The last expires — but leaves no living foe ; 
Fast to the doom'd offender's form it clings, 
And he may crush — not conquer — still it stingsJ 



None are all evil — quickening I'ound his heart, 
One softer feeling would not yet depart; 
Oft could he sneer at others as beguiled 
By passions worthy of a fool or child; 
Yet 'gainst that passion vainly still he strove, 
And even in him it asks the name of Love ! 
Yes, it was love — unchangeable — unchanged, 
Felt Init for one from whom he never ranged; 
Though fairest capdves daily met his eye, 
He shunn'd, nor sought, but coldly pass'd 
them by ; [bower, 

Though many a beauty droop'd in prison'd 
None ever soothed his most unguarded hour. 
Yes — it was Love — if thoughts of tenderness. 
Tried in temptation, strengthen'd by distress, 
Unmoved by absence, finn in every ciime. 
And yet — Oh more than all ! — untired by 

time; 
Which nor defeated hope, nor baffled wile. 
Could render sullen were she near to smile. 
Nor rage could fire, nor sickness fret to veut 
On her one mui-mur of his discontent ; 
Which still would meet with joy, with calm- 
ness part, [heart; 
Lest that his look of grief should reach he« 
Which naught removed, nor menaced to r©. 

move — 
If there be love in mortals — this was lovel 
He was a villain — ay — reproaches shower 
On him — but not the passion, nor its power, 
Which only proved, all other virtues gone. 
Not guilt itself could quench this loveliest on«'. 



He paused a moment — till his hasterung vuea 
Pass'd the first winding downward to the gleu 
" Strange tidings I — many a peril have I past, 
Nor know I why this next appears the last ! 
Yet so my heart forebodes, but must not feaoj 
Nor shall my followers find me falter here. 
'T is rash to meet, but surer death to wait 
Till here they hunt us to undoubted fate; 
And, if my plan but hold, and Fortune suuk^ 
We '11 furnish movmers for our funeral pile. 



THE CORSAIR. 



■; y — let tliem slumber — peaceful be tbeir 
dreams ! [beams 

.slom ne'er awoke them with such brilliant 
A s kindle high to-night (but blow, thou breeze 1) 
To waiTii these slow av*;ngers of the seas. 
Now to Medora — Oh ! my sinking heart, 
Long may her own be lighter than thou art ! 
\et was I brave — mean boast where all are 

brave! 
Rv'r insects sting for aught they seek to save. 
This common courage which with brutes 've 

share, 
That owes its deadliest efforts to despair, 
Small merit claims — but 't was my nobler hope 
To teach my few with numbers still to cope ; 
Long have I led them — not to vainly bleed: 
No medium now — we perish or succeed! 
.S( let it be — it irks not me to die ; 
K lit thus to ui-ge them v.hence they cannot fly. 
My lot hath long had little of my care. 
But chafes my pride thus baffled in the snare: 
Is this my skill? my craft? to set at last 
Hope, power, and life upon a single cast? 
Oil, Fate ! — accuse thy folly, not thy fate — 
She may redeeTn thee still — nor yet too late." 

XIV. 

Thus with himself communion held he, till 
He reach'd the summit of his tower-cro^^•n'd 

hill: 
There at the portal paused — for wild and soft 
lie heard those accents never heard too oft ; 
riii-cugh the high lattice far yet sweet they 

rung, 
-ind these the notes the bird of beauty sung : 



1. 

Deep in my soul that tender secret dwells, 
Lonely and lost to light for evermore, 

iiive when to thine my heart responsive swelL, 
Tlien trembles into silence as before. 



• Tijere, in its centre, a sepulchral lamp 
BiuTis the slow flame, eternal — but unseen ; 

V^^llich not the dai-kness of despair can damp, 
Tliougli vain its ray as it had never been. 



' Remember me — Oh ! ps.ss not thou my grave 
Without one thought whose relif^s there re- 
cline: 

fyt» only pang my bosom dare not brave 
Uast be to find forgetfulness in thine. 



** My fonde.st — faintest — latest accents heuf , 
Grief for the dead not Virtue cim reprove; 

Then give me all 1 ever ask'd — a tear. 

The first — last — sole rewai-d of bo ^ouch 
love!" 

He pass'd the portal — cross'd the conidore, 
And reach'd the chamber as the stram gave 

o'er. 
" My owTi Medora ! sure thy song is sad — " 

" In Conrad's absence wouldst thou have ii 

glad? 
Without thine eai to listen to my lay. 
Still mubtmy song my thoughts, my soul beti-ay 
Still must each accent to my bosom suit. 
My heart unhush'd — altliough my lips wer^. 

mute ! 
Oh ! many a night on thislone couch reclined. 
My dreaming fear m ith storms hath wing'd 

the wind. 
And deem'd the breath that faintly fann'd thy 

sail 
The nmrmuring prelude of the ruder gale; 
Though soft, it seem'd the low prophetic dirge. 
That moiuu'd thee floating en the savaije 

surge : 
Sti.'l would I rise to rouse the beacon fire. 
Lest spies less true shouldletthe blaze expiie; 
And many a restless hour outwatch'd each star, 
And morning came — and still thou wert afar. 
Oh ! how the chill blast on my bosom blew, 
And day broke dreary on my troubled view. 
And still I gazed and gazed — and not aprow 
^^'as granted to my teai's — my truth — my vow ! 
At length — 't was noon — I hail'd and blest 

the mast 
That met my sight — it near'd — Alas ! it passed 1. 
Another came — Oh God! 't was thine at last! 
Would that those days were over I wilt thou 

ne'er, 
My Conrad! learn the joys of peace to share? 
Sure thou hast more than wealth, and many 

a home 
As bright as this invites us not to roam: 
Thou know'st it is not peril that I fear, 
1 only tremble when thou art not here ; 
Then not for mine, but that far dearer life, 
^^'hich flies from love and languishes foe 

strife — 
How strange that heart, to me so tender still, 
Should war with nature and its better will!" 

" Yea, strange indeed — that heart hath long 

been changed; 
WoimJike 'twas trampled^adder-like avenged 



THE CORSAIR. 



33 



Without one hope on eartli beyond thy love. 
And sciirce a glimpse of mercy from above. 
Vet the same feeling whidi thou dost condemn 
My very love to thee is hate to them_. 
So closely mingling here, tliat disentwined, 
I cease to love thee when I love mankind : 
Vet dread not this — the proof of all the past 
Ass^,es the future that my love will last; 
liut — Oh, Medora .' nerve thy gentler heart, 
I'hi.s hour again — but not for lor.g — we part." 
' Tliis hour we part . my heart foreboded tliis : 
Thus ever fade my fairy dreams of bliss. 
This hour — it cannot be — this hour away I 
Yon bark hath hardly anchor'd in the bay ; 
Her consort still is absent, and her crew 
Ha-e need of rest before they toil anew : 
My love! thou mock'st my weakness; and 

wouldst steel 
My breast before the time when it must feel ; 
But trifle now no more with my distress, 
Such mirth hath less of play than bitterness. 
Be silent, Conrad! — dearest! come and share 
The feast these hands delighted to prepare ; 
Light toil! tD cull ai»d dress thy frugal fare I 
See, I have pluck'd llie frait that promised best, 
Ind where not sure, perplex' d, but pleased, I 

guess'd 
At such as seem'd the fairest ; thrice the hill 
My steps have wound to try the coolest rill; 
Yes I thy sherbet to-night will sweetly flow, 
See how it sparkles in its vase of snow I 
The grapes' gay juice thy bosom never cheers; 
Thou more man Moslem ^''hen the cup ap- 
pears: 
Think not I mean to chide — for I rejoice 
Wliat others deem a penance is thy choice. 
But come, the board is spread; our silver lamp 
Is trimm'd, and heeds not the sirocco's damp : 
Then shall my handmaids while the time along. 
And join with me the dance, or wake the song; 
Or my guitai", which still thou lov'st to hear, 
Shall soothe or lull — or, should it vex thine ear, 
We "11 turn the tale, by Ariosto told, 
Of fair Olympia loved and left of old. 
WL'/'—thou wert worse than he who broke his 

vow 
To that lost damsel, shouldst thou leave me now; 
Or even that traitor chief — I've seen thee smile, 
When the clear sky sliow'd Ariadne's Isle, 
Wiiich I have pointed from these cliffs the 

whi'e: 
And thus, half sportive, half in fear. I said. 
Lest Time should raise that doubt to more than 

dread, 
I'hus C<!nrad, too, will (piit me for the main: 
And he deceived me —lor — he r,«me again 



" Again — again — and oft again — my \ jvq ] 
If tliere be life below, and hope abo\e. 
He will return — but now, the moments bring 
The time of parting with redoubled wing: 
The whv — the where — what boots it now to 
tell? [well! 

Since all must end in that wild word — fare 
Yet would I fain — did time allow — disclose^ 
Fear not — these are no fomiidable foes ; 
And here shiill watch a more than wonted guard. 
For sudden siege and long defence prepared : 
Nor be thou lonely — though thy lord's away, 
Our matrons and thy handmaids with thee stay ; 
And this thy comfort — that,wlien next we meet, 
Security shall make repose more sweet. 
List ! — 't is the bugle"' — Juan shrilly blew — 
" One kiss — one more — another — Oh ! Adieu!' 

She rose — she spmng — she clung to nis em- 
brace, 
Till liis heart heaved beneath her hidden face. 
He dared not raise to his that deep-blue oyt. 
Which downcast droop'd in tearless agony. 
Her long fair hair lay floating o'er his aiTns, 
In all the wildness of dishevcU'd channs; 
Scarce beat that bosom where his image dwell 
So full — that feeling seem'd ahnost unfelt? 
Hai'k — peals the thunder of the signal gun! 
It told t was simset — and he cursed that sun. 
Again — again — that fomi he madly press' d, 
"Which mutely clasp'd, imploringly caress'd ! 
And tottering to the couch his bride he bore, 
One moment gazed — as if to gaze no more ; 
Felt — that for him earth held but her alone, 
Kiss'd her cold forehead- -turn'd — is Conrad 
gcme ? 

XV. 

^' And is he gone .-' " — on sudden solitude 
How oft that fearful question will intrude ! 
' 'T was but an instant past — and here he stood! 
And now" — without the portal's porch she 

rush'd, 
A nd then at length her tears in freedom gush'd : 
Big — bright — and fast, unknowni to her they 

fell; 
But still her lips refused to send — " Farewell I" 
For in that word — ihat fatal word — howe'er 
We promise — hope — beMeve — there Keathcs 

despair. 
O'er every feature of that still, pale face. 
Had soiTuw fix'd what time can ne'er erase 
Tl'e tender blue of that large loving eye 
Grew frozen with its gaze on vacancy. 
Till — Oh, how fiu- 1 — ilcaught a glimpse of him, 
And then it flow'd — and phrensied seem'd 

swim, 



34 



THE CORSAIR. 



17jM>jgli those long, dark, and glistening lashes 

<iew'd 
Pl'iili drops of sadness oft to be reneVd. 
" lie 's gone !" — agtiinst her heait that hand is 

driven, [heaven ; 

f!onvuIsed and quick — then gently raised to 
She iookd and saw the heaving of the main ; 
The white sail set — she dared not look again; 
13 ut lurn'd with sickening soul within tlie gate— 
" It is no dieam — and I am desolate ! " 



From crag to crag descending — swiftly sped 
item Conrad down,nor once he tnrn'dhis head; 
hit shrunk whene'er the windings of his way 
Forced on his eye what he ^^•ould not survey, 
His lone, bat lovely dwelling on the steep. 
That hail'd him fii'st when homeward from the 

deep : 
And she — the dim and melancholy star, 
Whose ray of beauty reached him from afar, 
On her he must not gaze, he must not think, 
There he might rest — but on DesUnction's 

brink: 
Yet oace almost he stopp'd — and nearly gave 
His fate to chance, his projects to the wave : 
But no^it must not be — a ^^ orthy chief 
May melt, but not betray to woman' s gi-ief. 
He sees his bark, he notes how fair the wind, 
And sternly gathers all his might of mind : 
Again he hun'ies on — and as he hears 
The clang of tumult vibrate on his ears. 
The busy sounds, the bustle of the shore. 
The shout, the signal, and the dashing oar; 
As marks his eye the seaboy on the mast, 
The anchors rise, the sails unfurling fast. 
The waving kerchiefs of the crowd that urge 
That mute adieu to those \\ho stem the surge; 
And more than all, his blood-red flag aloft. 
He marvell'dhoM' his heait could seem so soft. 
Fire in his glance, imd wiklness in his breast, 
He feels of all his fonner self possest; 
H ; bounds — he flies — until his footsteps j'each 
Tlie verge where ends the cliff,begins the beach, 
T'^ere checks his speed; but pauses less t( 

1- 3athe 
llio breezy freshness of the deep beneath. 
Than there his wonted statelier step renew; 
Nor rush, disturb'd by haste, to vulgar view: 
For well had ("onradleanr'd to curb the crowd, 
By arts that veil, a!id oft preserve the proud; 
His was the lolty port, the distant mien, 
Thatseems to shun the sight — and awes if seen : 
The solemn aspect, and the high-born eye. 
That d^uks ]<iw mirth, but lacks not coiutesy ; 



All these he -wielded to command assent; 
But where he wish'd to win, so well unbent, 
That kindness cancell'd fear in those who heard 
And others' gifts show'd mean beside his w<.rd, 
When echo'd to the heait as from his own 
His deep yet tender melody of tone : 
But such was foreign to his wonted mood, 
He cared not what he soften'd, but subdued; 
The evil passions of his youth had made 
Him value less who loved — than what obey'd 

XVII. 

Around him mustering ranged his ready guard. 
Before him Juan staiids — "Are all prepared?" 
" They are — ^nay more — embark'd : the latest 

boat 

Waits but my chief " 

" My sword, and my capote." 
Soon firmly girded on, and lightly slung. 
His belt and cloak were o'er his shoulders flung: 
"Call redi'o here!" He comes — and Conrad 

bends, 
With all the courtesy he deign'd his friends; 
" Receive these tablets, and peruse with care, 
W^ords Df high trust and truth are graven there ; 
Double the guard, and when Anselmo's bark 
Arrives, let him alike these orders mark: 
In three days (sei^ve the breeze) the mid sh&fl 

shine 
On our return — till then all peace be thine f ' 
This said, his brother Pirate's hand hewruaj, 
Then to his boat witli hauyhty gesture bpruug. 
Flash'd tlie dipt oars, and sparkling with the 

stroke. 
Around the waves' phosphoric-ibrightness broke; 
They gain the vessel — on the deck he stands, — 
Shrieks the shrill whistle — ply the busy hands- 
He marks ho\y well the ship her helm obeys, 
How gallant all her crew — and deigns topraise. 
His eyes of pride to young Consul vo tTirn — 
'vMiy doth he start, and inly seem to mourn? 
Alas ! those eyes beheld his rocky to\\ er. 
And live a moment o'er the parting hour; 
She — his Medora — did she mark the. prow? 
Ah ! never loved he half so much as now! 
Ihit much must yet be done ere dawn of day— 
Again he mans himself and turns away; 
Down to the cabin with GtmsaKo bends, 
And there unfolds his phm — hia me;ms — and 

ends: [chart, 

Bcfoi-e them bums the lamp, and s^yreads th« 
And all that speaks and aids the naval art; 
They to the midnight watch protract debate; 
To anxious eyes what houi' 'S e"'er late? 
Meantme the ^tta-'v breeze serenely blew, 
And fait and falcoi ,ike the <t;ss».« ftsw: 



THE CORSAIR. 



Pas-s'd the high headlands of each clustering 

isle, [smile: 

To gain their port — long — long ere morning 

And soon the night-glass thi'ough the narrow 

bay 
J^iscovcrs where the Pacha's galleys lay. 
Count tliey each sail — and mark how there 

supine 
The lights in vain o'er heeiless Moslem shine. 
So ure, unnoted, Conrad's prow pass'tl by, 
Ai:vl a)ichor'd where his ambush meant to lie! 
S<-rt'cn'd from espial by the jutting cajie, 
'I iiat rears on high its rude fantastic shape. 
Then rose his band to duty — not from sleep — 
E«}ni[:p'd for deeds alike on land or deep; 
While lean'd theirleader o'er the fretting flood, 
And calmly talk'd — and yethetalk"dof blood! 



CANTO THE SECOND. 

" Cooosceste i dubiosi desiri?" — Dantb. 



In Coron's bay floats many a galley light, 
Through Coron's lattices the lamps are bright. 
For Seyd, the Pacha, makes a fca>;t to-night: 
A feast for promised triumph yet to come, 
Vtlieu he shall drag the fetter'd Rovers home: 
This hath he sworn by Alia and his sword. 
And faithful to his finnan and his word. 
His summon'd prows collect along the coast, 
And great the gathering crews, and loud the 

boast; 
.\lready shared the captives and the prize, 
Though far the distant foe they thus despise; 
Tis but to sail — no doubt to-morrow's Sun 
Will see the Pirates bound — their haven won ! 
Meajitimethe watch may slumber, if they will, 
Nor only wake to war, but dreaming kill. 
Though all, who can, disperse on shore and seek 
7o flesh their glowing valour on the Greek; 
iiow well such deed becomes the tiuban'd 

brave — 
To bare the sabre's edf e before a slave 1 
Infest his dwelling— but forbear to slay, 
Their arms are strong, yet merciful to-day, 
And do not deign to smite because they may ! 
l^nless some gay caprice suggests the blow, 
T" keop in practice for the coming foe. 
iJevt'l and rout the evening hours be;_'ailp, 
\i;-it'liov who wish t'< wear ahead mast siiiile 



For Moslem mouths produce their choicott 

cheer. 
And hoard their curs?5, till the coast is clear. 



High in his hall reclines the tiu'ban'd Seyd; 
Around — the bearded chiefs he came to !ea.d. 
Removed the bamjuet, and the last pilafl' — 
Forbidden draughts, 't is said, he dared to qca^^ 
Though to the rest the sober berry's juice,^ 
The slaves bear round for rigid Moslems' use; 
The limg chibouque's*' dissolving cloutlsuijoiy, 
While dance the Almas' to wild minstrelsy.' 
The rising mom will view the chiefs embark; 
But waves are somewhat treacherous in the 

daik : 
And revellei's may more securely sleep 
On silken couch than o'er the rugged deep; 
Feast there who can — nor combat till they nmst, 
And less to conquest than to Korans trust; 
And yet the numbers crowded in his host 
Might wairant more than even the Packa'i 

boast 

III. 
With cautious reverence from the outer g».iu, 
Slow stalks the slave, whose oflSce there to wait, 
Bows his benthead — his hand salutes the /loor, 
Ere yet his tongue the trusted tidings bore: 
" A captive Dervise, from the pirate s nesi 
Escaped, is here — himself would tell the rest."' 
He took the sign from Seyd's assenting eye, 
And led the holy man in silence nigh. 
His aims were folded on his dark-gi-een vest. 
His step was feeble, and his look depn^st ; 
Yet worn he seem'd of hardship more than 

years, [fears. 

And pale his cheek with penance, not from 
Vow'd to his God — his sable locks he wore. 
And these his lofty cap rose proudly o'er. 
Around his fonn his loose long robe was thrown, 
And wrapt a breast bcstow'd on heaven alone 
Submissive, yet with self-possession mann'd. 
He calmly met the curious eyes that scann'd, 
And question of his coming fain would seek. 
Before the Pacha's will allow'd to speak. 



" Whence com'st thou, Dervise ?" 

" From the outlaw 's dea 
A fugitive — " 

"Thy capture whore and when?' 
" From Scalanovo's port to Scio's isle. 
The Saick was bound ; but Alia did not sTnil« 
Upon our course — the Moslem merchant's 
gains [chains. 

The Hovers won : our l;mbs have woni theii 



36 



THE CORSAIR. 



i had 1:0 death to fear, nor wealth to boast, 
Beyonc' the wandering freedom which I lost; 
^t 1' Tii^ih a fisher's bumble boat by night 
A-ifoidud hope, and wffer'd chance of liight; 
I S';ized the hoiu', and find my safety here — 
T/iUi thee — most mightv Pacha! who can 
fear? 

"'Bov speed the outlaws? stand they well 
prepared, [guard ? 

Theit piunder'd wealth, and robber's rock, to 
Dream they of this our preparation, doom'd 
I o view wdth fire their scorpion nest consumed?" 

"Pacha! the fetter'd captive's mourning eye, 
That weeps for flight, but ill can play the spy; 
I only heard the reckless waters roar, 
Those waves that wo'ild not beai' me from the 

shore; 
I only mark'd tlie glorious sun and sky, 
Too bright — too blue — for my captivity ; 
And felt — that all which Freedom's bosom 

cheers, 
Must break my chain before it dried my tears. 
This mnv'stthou j lulge, at least,frora my escape, 
rhe\ little deem of aught in peril's shape; 
Else vainly had I pray'd or sought the chance 
Th;i.t.Ii';uis me here — if eyed with vigilance : 
The careless guard that did not see me fly, 
May watch as idly when thy power is nigh. 
Pacha! — my limbs are faint — and nature craves 
Food for my hunger, rest from tossing waves : 
Permit my absence — peace be with thee ! Peace 
With all around! — now gi-ant repose — release." 

" Stay, Dervise ! I have more to question — stay, 
I do command thee — sit — dost hear? — obey ! 
More I mustask,and food the slaves shall bring: 
Thou shalt not pine where all are banqueting : 
The sujiper done — prepai'e thee to reply, 
Clearly and full — 1 love not mystery.' 

*T were vain to guess what shook the pious man, 
Who look'd not lorlngly on that Divan; 
Nor show'd high relish for the banquet pres*.. 
And less respect for every fellow guest. 
*Twas but a moment's peevish hectic past 
Along his cheek, and tranquillised as fast: 
He sate him down in silence, and his look 
,'i.esumcd the calmness which before forsook : 
The feast was usher' d in — ^but sumptuous fare 
He shunn d as if some poison mingled there. 
For one so long conderan'd to toil and fast. 
Moth inks he strangely spares the rich repast. 

" What ails thee, Derrise? eat— dost thou sup 

pose 
This tv-ast a Christian's? or my friends thyfoes ? 



Why dost thou shun the salt' that sacred pledge 
Which, once partaken, blunts the sabre s edge 
Makes even contending tribes in peace unite 
And hated hosts seem brethren to the sight ! "' 

" Salt seasons dainties — and my food is still 
The humblest root, my drink the simplest i ill 
And my stern vow and order' s^ laws oppose 
To break or mingle bread with friends or foes; 
It may seem strange— if there be aught to dread, 
That peril rests upon my single head ; 
But for thy sway — nay more — thy Sultan's 

throne, 
I taste nor bread nor banquet — save alone ; 
Infringed our order's rule, the Prophet's rage 
To Mecca's dome might bar my pilgrimage." 

" Well — as thou wilt — ascetic as thou ait— 
One question answer; then in peace depart 
How many? — Ha! it cannot sure be day? 
What star — what sun is bursting on the bayf 
It shines a lake of fire !-^— away — away I 
Ho ! treachery ! my guards I my scimitar . 
The galleys feetl the flames — and I afar I 
Accur.?ed Dervise ! — these thy tidings — thou 
Some villain spy — seize — cleave him — slaj 
him now I " 

Up rose the Dervise with that burst of lights 
Nor less his change of foi-ra appall'd the sight; 
Up rose that Dervise — not in saintly garb. 
But like a warn or bounding on his barb, 
Dash'd his high cap, and tore his robe away — 
Shone his mail'd breast, and flash'd his sabre'i 

ray ! 
His close but glittering casque, and sable plume 
More glittering eye, and black brow's sablear 

gloom, 
Glared on the Moslems' eyes some Afrit sprite; 
Whose demon death-blow left no hope for fight 
The wild confusion, and the swarthy glow 
Of flames on high, and torches from belowj 
The shriek of teiTor, and the mingling yell — 
For swords began to clash,and shouts to swell- 
Flung o'er that spot of earth the air of hell t 
Distracted, to and fro, the flying slaves 
Behold but bloody shore and fiery Avaves ; 
Nought heedetl they the Paclm's angry cry, 
Thfi/ seize that Dervise ! — seize on Zatanai 'A^ 
He saw their teiTor — check'd the first despair 
That urged him but to stand and perish there, 
Since far too early and too well obey'd, 
The flame was kindled ere the signal made; 
He saw their terror — from his bddric drew 
His bugle — brief the blast — but shrilly blew; 
T is answer" d — " Well ye speed, my gallau/ 

crew; 



THE CORSAIR. 



Zl 



Why did I doubt their quickness of career? 
And' deem desi^ had left me single here?" 
SsNoeps his long aiTn — that sabre's whirling 

sway- 
Sheds fast atonement for its first delay ; 
Completes his fury what their fear begun, 
And makes the many basely quail to one. 
Trie cloven turbans o'er the chamber spread, 
And scarce an arm dare rise to guard its head : 
Even Seyd, convulsed, o'erwhelm'd, with rage, 

sui-prise, 
Retreats before him. though he still defies. 
No craven he — and yet he dreads the blow, 
So much Confusion magnifies his foe ! 
His blazing galleys still distract his sight, 
He tore his beard, and foaming fled the fight ;' I 
For now the Pirates pass'd the Haram gate, 
And burst within — and it were death to wait; 
Where wildAmazementshi-ieking — kneeling — 

throws 
The sword aside — in vain — the blood o'erflows! 
The Corsairs pouring, haste to where within, 
Invited Conrad's bugle, and the din 
Of groaning victims, and wild cries for life. 
Proclaim' d how well he did the work of strife. 
They shout to find him grim and lonely there, 
A glutted tiger mangling in his lair! 
But short their greeting — shorter his reply — 
" 'Tis well — but Seyd escapes — and he must 
die — [do — 

Much hath been don99cbut more remains to 
Their galleys blaze — ^why not their city too?" 



Quick at the word — they seized him each a 

torch, 
And fire the dome from minaret to porch. 
A stem delight was fix'd in Conrad's eye, 
But sudden sank — for on his ear the cry 
Of women stru.^.k, and like a deadly knell 
Knock'd at that heart unmoved by battle s yell, 
Oh! burst the Haram— wTong not on your 

lives 
One female foi-m — remember — we have wives. 
On them such outrage Vengeance will repay ; 
Man is our foe, and such 'tis ours to slay: 
But still we spared — must spare the weaker 

prey. 
Oh ! I forgot — but Heaven will net forgive 
If at my word the helpless cease to live: 
Follow who will — I go — we yet have time 
Our souls to lighten of at least a crime." 
He climbs the crackling stair — he burstf the 

door, 
Pfor feels his feet glow scorching with thr floor; 



His breath choked gasping with tht volui^eJ 
smoke. 

But still from room to room his way he broke. 

They search — they find — tliey save : witli lusty 
arms 

Each bears a prize of unregarded charms; 

Calm their loud fears; sustain their sinking 
frames 

With all the care defenceless beauty claims-. 

So well could Conrad tame their fiercest mood, 

And check the very hands with gore imbrued. 

But who is she? whom Conrad's anus convey 

From reeking pile and combat's wreck- 
away — 

Who but the love of him he dooms to bleed? 

The Haram queen — but still the slave of Seyd 



Brief time had Conrad now to greet Gulnare, '' 
Few words to re-assure the trembling fair; 
For in that pause compassion snatch'd frtiaa 

war. 
The foe before retiring, fast and far. 
With wonder saw their footsteps unpursued, 
First slowlier fled — then rallied — then with- 
stood. 
Thi sS eyd percei ves,then first perceives how few,. 
Compared with his, the Corsair's rovjngcrew 
And blushes o'er his error, as he eyes 
The ruin wrought by panic and sui-prise. 
Alia il Alia! Vengeance swells the cry — 
Shame mounts to rage that must atone or diei 
And flame for flame and blood for blood must 

tell, 
The tide of triumph ebbs that flow'd too well — 
When wTath returns to renovated strife, 
And those who fought for conquest strike for 

life. 
Conrad beheld tlie danger — he bet eld 
His followers faint by freshening foesrepell'd. 
" One efibrt — one — tobreak the circling host . ' 
They form — unite — charge — waver — all islosts 
Within a narrower ring compress'd, beset, 
Hope]ess,notheartless,strive and struggle yet — - 
Ah! now they fight in firmest file no more, 
Hemm'd in — cut oflT — cleft down — and tram 

pled o'er; 
But each strikes singly, silently, and home, 
And sinks outwearied rather than o'crcome. 
His last faint quittance rendering with hit 

breath. 
Till the blade glimmers in the grasp of death! 



But first, ere came the rallying host to blowi, 
And rank to rank, and hand to hand oppose, 



33 



THE CORSAIR. 



Gulnare and all her Haram handmaids freed, 
Safe in ihe dome of one who held their creed, 
By Conrad's mandate safely were be- tow'd. 
And dried those teai's for life and fame lliat 

flow'd : 
And when that dark-eyed lady, young Gulnare, 
Recall'd those thoughts late wandering in de- 
spair. 
Much did she mai-vel o'er the courtesy 
That smooth'd his accents ; softcn'd in his eye: 
Twas strange — </ia^ robber thus with gore be- 

dew'd, 
Seem'd gentler then than Seyd in fondest mood. 
The Pacha woo'd as if he deem'd the slave 
Must seem delighted with the heart he gave ; 
The Corsair vow' d protection, soothed affright, 
As if his homage were a woman's right. 
"The wish is wrong — nay, worse for female — 

Tain : 
Yet much I long to view that chief again ; 
If but to thank for, what my fear forgot, 
The life — my loving lord remeniber'd not ! " 



Andhim she saw,where thickest carnage spread, 
But gather'd breathing from the happier dead; 
Far from his band, and battling with a host 
That deem right dearly won the field he lost, 
Fell'd — bleeding — baffled of the death he 

sought. 
And snatch'd to expiate all the ills he wrought; 
Preser\-ed to linger and to live in vain, 
WTiile Vengeance ponder'd o'er new plans of 

pain, [again — 

And stanch'd the blood she saves to shed 
But dro]) for drop, for Seyd's unglutted eye 
Would doom him ever dying — ne'er to die ! 
Can this be he? triumphant late she saw, 
When his redhand's wild gesture waved, alaw! 
T is he indeed — disami'd but undeprest. 
His sole regi'et the life he still possest; 
His wounds too slight, though taken with that 

will, [could kill. 

X'^Tiich would have kiss'd the hand that then 
Oh were there none, of all the many given. 
To send his soul — he scarcely ask'd to heaven? 
fvlust he alone of all retain his breath, 
W}\o more than all had striven and struck for 

death ? 
He deeply felt — what mortal hearts must feel 
When thus reversed on faithless fortune's wheel, 
For crimes committed, and the victor's threat 
Of lingering tortures to repay the debt — 
He deeply, darkly felt; but evil pride 
Thai led to peri)etrate — now sci-ves to hide. 



Still in his stem and self-collected mien 

A conqueror's more than captive's air is s^e.i. 

Though faint with wasting toil and stiffe-.Mi!£ 

wound, 
But few that saw — so calmly gazed around . 
Though the far shouting of the distant cro.vi!^ 
Their tremors o'er, rose insolently loud. 
The better wairiors who beheld him near, 
Insulted not the foe who taught them fear ; 
And the gi'im guards that to his durance led, 
In silence eyed him with a secret dread. 



IX. 

fhe Leech was sent — ^but not in mercy — there, 
To note how much the life yet left could bear; 
He found enough to load with heaviest chain, 
And promise feeling for the ^vTench of pain : 
To-morrow — yea — to-morrow's evening sun 
Will sinking see impalement's pangs begun. 
And rising with the wonted blush of morn 
Behold how well or ill those pangs are bonio. 
Of tonnents this the longest and the woret, 
Which adds all other agony to thirst. 
That day by day death still forbears to slake. 
While famish'd vultures flit aromni the stake. 
" Oh ! water — water ! " — smiling Hate denies 
The victim's prayer — for if he drinks — he dies. 
This was his doom:— the Leech, the guard, 

were gone, 
A.nd left proud Coni-ad fetter'd and alone. 



T were vain to paint to what his feelings 

grew— 
It even were doubtful if their victim knew. 
There is a war, a chaos of the mind. 
When all its elements convulsed — combined- 
Lie dark and jamng with perturbed force, 
And gnashing with impenitent Remorse ; 
That juggling fiend — who never spake before — 
But cries "I wani'd thee!" when the deed is 

o'er. 
Vain voice! the spirit burning hut unbent, 
May writhe — rebel — the weak alone re])ent.' 
Even in that lonely hour when most it feels, 
And, to itself, all — all that self reveals. 
No single passion, and no niling thought 
That leaves the rest as once unseen, unsought ; 
But the wild prospect whenthe soul reviews — 
All rushing through their thousand avenues, 
Ambition's dreams expiring, love's regret, 
Endangcr'd glory, life itself beset; 
The joy untasted, the contempt or hate 
'Gainst those who fain wouW triumph in oia 

'ate; 



THE CORSAIR. 



39 



The hopeless past, the hasting future rtnven 
Too quickly on to guess if hell or heaven; 
Deeds, thoughts, and words, perhaps rcmem- 

ber'd not 
So keenly till that hour, but ne'er forgot; 
Things light or lovely in their acted time, 
15 lit now to stem reflection each a crime; 
The withering sense of evil unreveal'd. 
Not cankcringlcss because the more conccal'd — 
All, in a word, from which all eyes must start 
That ope-r.1^5 sepulchre — the naked heait 
P. ires with its buriei' woes, till Pride awalce, 
To-^natch the miiTor from the soul — and break. 
Ay — Pride can veil, and Courage brave it all, 
All — all — before — beyond — the deadliest full. 
Each has some fear, and he who least betrays. 
The only hj'pocritc dcsei'ving praise : 
Not the loud recreant WTetch who boasts and 

flics ; 
But he who looks on death — and silent dies 
So steel'd by pondering o'er his far career 
He half-wav meets him should he menace near! 



In Ih?, high chamber of his highest tower 
Cave Conrad, fetter'd in the Pacha's power. 
His palace perish'd in the flame — this fort 
Ccntain'd at once his captive and his court. 
Not much could Conrad ofhis sentence blame, 
His foe, if vanquish'd, had but shared the 

same : — 
Alone he sate — in solitude had scann'd 
His guilty bosom, but that breast he mann'd: 
One thought alone he could not — dared not 

meet — 
" Oh, how these tidings will Mcdora greet.'" 
Then — only then — his clanking hands he 

raised, f gazed: 

And strain'd with rage the chain on which he 
Bui soon he found — or feign'd — or dream'd 

relief, 
And smiled in self-derision ofhis grief 
' And now come tortcae when it will— or may 
More need of rest Ic nerve me for the day ! " 
This said, with lang:ior to his mat he crept, 
A.nd, whatsoe'er his visions, quickly slept. 
T was hardly midnight when that fray begun, 
For Conrad's plans matured, at once were done : 
And Havoc loathes so much the waste of lime, 
Bhe scarce had left an uncommitted crime. 
One hour beheld him since the tide he stcmm'd — 
Disguised — discover'd — conqupring — ta'en 

— condemn'd — 
A. chief on land — an outlaw on the deep — 
Ocsvroyinj^ — savings — prison'd — and asleep ! 



xtl. 

He slept in calmest seeming — for his ctcath 
Was hush'd so deep — Ah! hapjjy if in aealh 
He slept — Who o'er his placid slumber bends? 
His foes are goni. — and here he huth no friends : 
Is it some seraph sent to grant him grace .'' 
No, 'tis an earthly foiTU with heavenly face! 
Its white ann raised a lamp — yet gently hid. 
Lest the ray flash abniptly on the lid 
Of that closed eye, which opens but to pain. 
And once unclosed — but rmce may close again. 
That fonn, with eye so dark, and cheek so fair. 
And auburn waves of genmi'd and braided hair; 
With shape of fairy lightness — naked foot, 
That shines like snow, and falls on earth as 

mute — 
Through guards and dunnest night how camt 

it there ? 
Ah ! rather ask what will not woman dare ? 
■^^'^lom youth and pity lead like thee, Gulnarc! 
She could not sleep — and while tlie Pacha's 

rest 
In muttering dreams yet saw his pirate-guest. 
She left his side — his signet-ring she bore. 
Which oft in sport adorn'd her hand before — 
And with it, scarcely question'd, won her way 
Through drowsy guards that must that sign 

obey. [blows, 

Worn out with toil, and th'ed with changing 
Their eyes had envied Conrad his repose; 
And chill and nodtling at the turret door. 
They stretch their listless limbs, and watch no 

more: 
Just raised their heads to hail the signet-ring. 
Nor ask or what or who the sign may bring. 



XIII. 

She gazed in wonder, " Can he calmly sleep. 
While other eyes his fall or ravage weep? 
And mine in restlessness are wandering here— « 
What sudden spell hath made this man so 

dear? 
True — 'tis to him my life, and more, I owe, 
And me and mine he spared from worse than 

woe : [breaks— 

'Tis late to think — but soft — ^his slumber 
How heavily he sighs ! — I e starts — awakes V 

He raised his head — and dazzled with the light, 
His eye scem'd dubious if it saw firight: 
He moved his hand — the giating of bis chain 
Too harshly told him that he livoil again. 
" "N^Hiat is that form ? if not a shape of air, 
Meihinks, my jailor's face shows wond'ruw 
fair! ' 



40 



THE CORSAIR. 



'• Pirate! thou knowst me not — ^but 1 am one, 
Grateful for cUeds thou hast too rarely done; 
I^ook on me — and remember her, thy hand 
Snatch' d from the flames, and thy more fearful 
band, [why — 

I come through darkness — and I scarce know 
Vt't not to hurt — I would not see thee die." 

" If so, kind lady! thine the only eye 

That would not here in that gay hope delight : 

iheirs is the chance — and let them use their 

right. 
But sci:i I thank their courtesy or thine. 
That would c-onfess me at so fair a shrine !" 

Strange though it seem — yet Avith extremest 

grief 
Is link'd a mirth — it doth not bring relief — 
That playfulness of Soitow ne'er beguiles. 
And smiles in bitterness — but still it smiles; 
And sometimes with the wisest and the best, 
Till even the scali'old'^ echoes with their jest. 
Yet not the joy to which it seems akin — 
It may deceive all hearts, save that within. 
Whale'er it was that flash'd on Conrad, now 
A laughing wildness half unbent his brow: 
And these his accents had a sound of mirth, 
As if the last he could enjoy on earth; 
Vet 'gainst his nature — for through that short 

life, [strife. 

Few thoughts had he to spare from gloom and 



"Corsair ! thy doom is named — but I have power 
To soothe the Pacha in his weaker hour. 
Thee would I spare — nay more — would save 

thee now, [allow; 

But this — time — hope — nor even thy strength 
But all I can, I will: at least, delay 
The sentence that remits thee scarce a day. 
More now were ruin — ev^n thyself were loth 
The vain attempt should bring but doom to 

both." 

" "^'cs ! — lotli indeed : — ^my soul is nerved to all, 
Or faH'n too low to fear a further fall : 
Tcin])l not thyself with peril ; me with ho]>e. 
Of lliglit from focswilh whom I couldnotcope: 
Unfit to vanquish — shall I meanly fly. 
The one of all my band that would not die? 
Vet there is one — to whom my memory clings, 
Till to these eyes her own wild softness springs. 
My sole resources in the path I trod 
W ere these — my bark — my swoid —my love — 
my God! 



The last 1 left in youth — he leaves ue n«/w— 
And Man but works his will to lay me low. 
I have no thought to mock his throne witfe 

prayer 
Wrung from the coward crouching of despair , 
It is enough — I breathe — and I can bear. 
My sword is shaken from the worthless hand 
That might have better kept so true a brand; 
My bark is sunk or captive — but my love — 
P'orher in sooth my voice would raountabove : 
Oh ! she is all that still to earth can bind — 
And this will break a he<u't so iiore than kind, 
And blight a fonn — till thine appeai-"d, Gulnare ! 
Mine eye ne'er ask'd if others were as fair." 

"Thou lov'st another then ? — but what to m« 
Is this — 't is nothing — nothing e'er can be: 
But yet — thou lov'st — and — Oh ! I envy thoss 
Whose hearts on hearts as faithful can repose, 
Who never feel the void — the wandering 
thought [wrought." 

That sighs o'er visions — such as mine hath 

"Lady — methought thy love was his, for whom 
This arm redcem'd tliee from a fiery tomb." 

"My love stem Seyd's! Oh — No — No — no< 

my love — [strova 

Yet much this heart, that strives no more, one a 
To meet his passion — but it would not be. 
I felt — I feel — loved wells with — with the free. 
I am a slave, a favour'd s'.ave at best. 
To share his splemlour, and seem very blest! 
Oft must my soul the question und;rgo. 
Of — 'Dost thou love?* and burn to answei 

'No!* 
Oh ! hard it is that fondness to sustain, 
And struggle not to feel averse in vain; 
But harder still the heart's recoil lo bear. 
And hide from one — perhaps another there. 
He takes the hand I give not — nor withhold— • 
Its pulse nor cheek' d — nor quicken' d — calmly 

cold : 
And when rexign'd, it drops a lifeless weight 
From one I never ;oved enough to hate. 
No wannth these lips rcltu-n by his imprest. 
And chill'd remembrance shudders o'er thereat 
Ves — had I ever proved that passion's zeal. 
The change to hatred were at least to feel : 
But still — he goes unmoui-n'd — returns un. 

sought — 
And oft when present — absentfrom my thought 
Or when reflection com.p>i — and come itmast — 
I fear that henceforth 'twill but bring disgust 
I am his slave — but, in despite of pride, 
T wuj-e worse than Londasrc to In come his bride 



THE CORSAIR. 



43 



Oh ! tliai this dotago of his breast would ease . 
Or seek another and give mine release. 
But yesterday — I could have said, to peace! 
Yes — if unwonted fondness now I feign, 
Remember — captive! 'tis to break thy chain ; 
Repay the life that to thy hand I owe; 
To give thee back to all endcar'd below, 
Who share such love as I can never know. 
Farewell — mom breaks — and I must now 

away: day!" 

"T will cost me dear — ^but di-ead no death »o- 

XV. 

Sb' press'd his fetler'd fingers to her heart, 
And Low'd her head, and tuni'd her to depart. 
And noiseless as a lovely dre;uii is gone. 
And was she here? and is he now alone? 
What gem hath dropp'd and sparkles o'er his 

chain? 
The tear most sacred, shed for others' pain, 
That starts at once — bright — pure — from Pity's 

mine 
Already poHsh'd by the hand divine ' 

Oxi ! too cc^ivincing — dangerously dear-— 
In woman's eye the unanswerable tear I 
That weapon of her weakness she can wield, 
To save, subdue — at once her spear and -.hieldr 
Avoid it — Virtue ebbs and Wisdom errs, 
Too fondly gazing on that grief of hers ! 
What lost a world, and bade a hero fly? 
The timid tear in Cleopatra's eye. 
Yet be the soft triumvir's fault forgiven ; 
By this — how many lose not earth — but heaven! 
Consign their souls to man's eternal foe. 
And seal their owntosparesome wanton's woe. 



T is mom— and o'er his altered features play 
The beams — ^^^thout the hope of yesterday. 
What shall he be ere night ? perchance a thing, 
tTer wnich the raven flaps her funeral wing, 
By his closed eye unheeded and unfelt ; 
While sets that sun, and dews of evening melt, 
Chill — wet— and misty round each stiffen'd 

limb, 
Jlefieshing earth— reviving all but him!— 



CANTO THE THIRD. 
'CoiL-ie v«di — ancor non m'abbandona." D a n tb 



S'.ffw sinks, more lovely ere his race ba run, 
klong Morea's hills the setting sun; 



Not as in northern climes, obscartly bright, 
But one tmdouded blaze of living light 1 
O'er the hnsh'd deep the ye.low boainhc thro* ^ 
Gilds the green wave, thaMremblcsasitglcnv^ 
On old .Egina's rock, and Idra's isle. 
The god of gladness sheds his parting smile; 
O'er his own regions lingering, loves to shinty 
Though there his altars are no more divine. 
Descending fast the mountain shadows kiss 
Thy glorious gi\lf, unconquer'd .Salamis ! 
Their azure arches through the lotjg expanst 
More deeply purpled meet his mellowing glance 
And tenderest tints, along their summits driven, 
Maik his gay course, and own the hue* of 

heaven; 
Till, darkly shaded from the land and deep, 
Behuid his Delphian cliff he sinks to sleep. 

On such an eve, his palest beam he cast. 
When — Athens! here thy Wisest look'd his 

last 
How watch'd tliy better sons his farewell ray 
That closed tlicir murder'd sage's'-* latest day ! 
Nor yet — not yet — Sol pauses on the hill— 
The precious hour of parting lingers still; 
But sad his light to agonising eyes. 
And dark the moimtain's once delightful dyes: 
31oom o'er the lovely land he seem'd to poiur. 
The land, where Phoebus never frown'd before; 
But ere he sank below Citha^ron's head, 
The cup of woe was quafl'd — Uie spirit fled; 
The soul of him who scoru'd to fear or fly — 
Who hved and died, as none can live or die' 

But lo ! from high Hymettus to the plain, 
The queen of night asserts her silent reign. 1* 
No murky vapour, herald of the stonu, 
Hides her fair face, nor girds her glowing fomii 
With coniice glimmering as the moon-beain» 

play, 
There the white column greets her gi-atefultay 
And, bright around with quivering beams besef 
Her emblem sparkles o'er the minaret • 
The groves of olive scatter'd dark and wide 
A^Tiere meek Cephisus pours his scanty tide. 
The c\-}iress saddening by the sacred mosqu* 
The gleaming turret of the gay kio.-k,16 
And, dun and sombre 'mid tlie holy calm, 
Near Theseus* fane yon solitary palm, 
All tinged with vai-ied hues, an-est the eye— 
And dull were his thatpass'd tliem heedless bj 

Again the ^Egean, heard no more afar, 
Lullis his chafed breast from elemental war; 
Again his waves in milder tints unfold 
Their long airay of sapphire and of gol^ 



42 



THE CORSAIR. 



Mixd witn the sliatlesof many a distant isle, 
That frown — wh?ie gentler ocean seems to 

smile. 

II. 
Not now my theme — whj' tui-n ray tncughts to 

thee? ' 
Oh ' -who can look along thy native sea. 
Nor dwell upon ihy name, whate'er tlie tale, 
So xnuch its magic mu.st o'er all prevail? 
W I'.o that heheld that Sun upon thee set. 
Fair Athens I could thine evening face forget? 
N.t he — whose heait nor time nor distance 

frees, 
Spell-bound within the clustering Cyclades ! 
Nor seems this homage foreign to his strain. 
His Corsair's isle was once thine own domain — 
Would that with Ireedom it were thine again ! 

III. 

The Sun hath sunk — and, darker than the night, 
Sinks with its beam upon the beacon height 
Medora's heart — the thira day 's come and 

gone — [one! 

With it he comes not — sends not — faithless 
The wind was fair though light; and storms 

were none. 
Last eve Auselmo's bark return'd, and yet 
Eis only tidings that ihey had not met ! 
Though wild, as now, far ditl'erent were the tale 
Had Com-ad waited for that single sail. 

The night-breeze freshens — she that day had 

pass'd 
In watching all that Hope proclaim'd a mast ; 
Sadly she sate — on high — Impatience bore 
At last her footsteps to the midnight shore. 
And there she wander'd, heedless of the spray 
That dahh'd her garments oft, and warn'd away: 
She saw not — felt not this — nor dared depart. 
Nor deem'd it cold — her chill was at her heart; 
Till giew such certainty from that suspense — 
His very sight had shock'd from hfe or sense! 

It came at last — a sad and shatter'd boat. 
Whose inmates fost beheld whom first they 

sought; [few — 

Some bleeding — all most wretched — these the 
Scarce Imew they how escaped — this all they 

knew. 
In silence, darkling, each appeai-'d to wait 
His fellow's mournful guess at Conrad's fate: 
Something they would have said ; but seem'd 

to fear 
To imst their accents to Medora's ear. 
Siie saw at once, yet sunk not — trembled not— 
Beneath that giief, that loneliness of lot, 



W^itlain that meek fiiir font rere fee'Sngs hi^ 
That deem'd not till tliey f ).jnd their energy. 
While yet was Hope — I hey soften' d — flut- 
ter' d — wept — 
All lost — that softness died not — ^but it slept; 
And o'er its slumber rose that Sti'ength whitJi 
said, [dread." 

"With nothing left to love — there's nought to 
'T is more than nature's,; like the burning mighj 
Deliriimi gathers from the fever's height. 

" Silent you stand — nor would I hear vou tell 
What — speak not — breathe not — for I know it 

well- 
Yet wj'idd I ask — almost my lip denies 
The — quick your answer — tell me where h* 

lites." 

" Lady ! we know not — scarce with life we fled. 

But here is one denies that he is dead : 

He saw him bound ; and bleeding — but aliye " 

She heaid no further — 't was in vain to strive — 
So tlirobb'd each vein — each thought — till then 

witlistood; [dued* 

Her own dark soul — these words at once sub- 
She totters — falls — and senseless had the viave 
Perchance but snatch'd her from another gi-ave; 
But that with hands though rude, yet weeping 

eyes. 
They yield such aid as Pity's haste supplies: 
Dash o'er her deathlike cheek the ocean devf , 
Raise — fan — sustain — till life retmns anew^ 
Awake her handmaids, with the matrons leave 
That fainting form o'er which they gaze and 

gi'ieve; 
Then seek Anselmo's cavem, to report 
The tale too tedious — when the triumph short 



In that wild council words wax'd warm and 

strange, 
W^ith thoughts of ransom, rescue, and revenge; 
All, save repose or flight: still lingering there 
Breathed Com-ad's spirit, and forbade despair; 
WTaate'er his fate — the breasts he form'd and 

led. 
Will save him living, or appease him dead. 
Woe to his foes ! tliere yet survive a few. 
Whose deeds are daiing, as their hearts are true. 



Within the Haram's secret chamber sat* 
Stem Seyd, still pondering o'er his Captire' 

ffite ; 
His thoughts on love and hate alternate dwell 
Now with Gulnare, and now in Conrad's cefl; 



THE CORSAIR. 



43 



Here at his feet the lovely slave reclined 
Siirveys his brow — would soothe his gloom of 
mind; [eye 

Winle many an anxious glance her large dark 
Sends in its idle search for sjmipathy, 
His only bends in seeming o'er his beads,l7 
But inly views his victim as he bleeds. 

"Pacha! the day is thine ; and on thy crest 
Sits Triumph — Conrad taken — fall'n the rest ! 
His doom is fix'd — he dies: and well his fate 
Was eani'd — yet much too worthless for thy 

hate : 
Mcthinks, a short release, for ransom told 
With all his treasure, not unwisely sold ; 
Report speaks largely of his pirate-hoard — 
Would that of this my Pacha were the lord ! 
While baffled, weakcn'd by this fatal fray — 
Watch' d — follow'd — he were then an easier 

prey ; 
But once cut off — the remnant of his band 
Embai'k their wealth, and seek a safer strand." 

"" Gulnare ! — if for each drop of blood a gem 

Were offer'd rich as Stamboul's diadem; 

If for each hair of his a massy mine 

Of virgin ore should supplicating shine; 

If all our Arab tales divulge or dream 

Of wealth were here — that gold should not 

redeem ! 
It had not now redeem'd a single hour ; 
But that I know him fetter'd, in my power; 
And, thirsting for revenge, I ponder still 
On pangs that longest rack, and latest kill." 

" Nay, Se.yd I — I seek not to restrain thy rage, 
Too justly moved for mercy to assuage ; 
My thoughts were only to secure for thee 
His riches — thus released, he were not free: 
Disabled, shorn of half his might and band, 
His capture could but wait thy first command. " 

"His capture could! — and shall I then resign 
r>ne day to him — the wretch already mine? 
Release my foe ! — at wnose remonstrance ? — 

tliine ! 
Fair suitor! — to thy virtuous gi-atitude, 
That thus repays this Giaour's relenting mood, 
Wair^h thee and thine alone of all could spare, 
No doubt — regardless if the prize wei'e fair. 
My thanks and praise alike arc due — now hear ! 
I have a counsel for thy gentler ear: 
I do mistrust thee, woman ! and each word 
Of thine stamps truth on all Suspicion heard, 
^ome in his arms through fire from yon Serai — 
Say, wert thou lingering there with bimtofly? 



Thon need'st not answer— thy confcssiiMi 

speaks, 
Already reddening on thy giiilty checks ; 
Thon, lovely dame, bethink thee ! and beware 
'T is not his life alone may claim such care: 
Another word and — nay — I need no more. 
Accursed was the moment when he bore 
Thee from the flames, which better far — but 

— no — 
I then had moum'd thee with a lover's woe— 
Now't is thy lord that warns — deceitful thing I 
Know'st thou that I can clip thy wanton wing? 
In woi-ds alone I am not wont to chafe: 
Look to thyself — nor deem thy falsehood safe!" 

He rose — and slowly, sternly thence withdrew, 
Rage in his eye and threats in his adieu : 
Ah ! little reck'd that chief of womanhood — 
Which frowns ne'er quell'd, nor menaces sub- 
dued ; 
And little deem'd he what thy heart, Gulnare! 
When soft could feel, and when incensed could 
dare. [knew 

His doubts appear' d to wrong — nor yet she 
How deep the root from whence ccmpassioD 

gi-ew— 
She was a slave — from such may captives claim 
A fellow-feehng, differing but in name; 
Still half unconscious — heedless of his wrath. 
Again she ventured on the dangerous path. 
Again his rage repell'd — until arose 
That strife of thought, the source of woman's 
woes ! 

VI. 

Meanwhile — long anxious — weary — still — the 
same [tame — 

Roll'd day and night — his soul could never 
This fearful interval of doubt and dread, 
When eveiy hour might doom him worse than 

dead, 
When every step that echo'd by the gate 
Might entering lead where axe and stake await; 
Wlien eveiy voice that grated on his ear 
Might be the last that he could ever hear • 
Could terror tame — that spirit stem and ;iigb 
Had proved unwilling as unfit to die; 
'T was worn — perhaps decay'd — yet silent h:tt 
That conflict, deadlier far than all before: 
The heat of fight, the huiry of the gale, 
Leave scarce one thought inert enough to quail; 
But bound and fix'd in fetter'd solitude. 
To pine, the prey of every changing mood ; 
To gaze on thine own heart ; and meditate 
Irrevocable faults, and coming fate — 
To;) Inte the last to shun — the first to mend-™ 
To count the hours that struggle to thine rn4 



u 



THE CORSAIR. 



With not a friei>d to animate, and lef 
To other ears that death became the': well; 
Around thee foe-s to forge the ready he, 
And blot Ul'e s huest scene with calumny ; 
Before thae tortures, which the soul can dare, 
Yet doubts how well the shiinking flesh may 

bear ; 
But deeply feels h -^-c^V cry would shame, 
To valour s praise thy last and dearest claim ; 
The life thou leav'st below, denied above 
By kind monopolists of heavenly love ; 
And more than, doubtful paradise — thy heaven 
Of 6arlhlyhoi)e — thy loved one from thee riven. 
Such were the thoughts that outlaw must sustain, 
And govern pangs sui-passing mortal pain: 
And those sustuin'd he — boots it well or ill? 
Since not to sink beneath, is something still ! 



The first day pass'd — he saw not her — Gul- 

nare — [there ; 

The second — third — and still she came not 
But what her words avouch'd, her charms had 

done. 
Or else he had not seen another sun. 
The fourth day roU'd along, and with the night 
Came storm and darkness in their mingling 

might : 
Oh ! how he listen'd to the nishing deep, 
That ne'er till now so broke upon his sleep; 
And his wild spirit wilder wishes sent. 
Roused by the roar of his own element ! 
Oft had he ridden on that winged wave. 
And loved its roughness for the speed it gave; 
And now its dashing echo'd on his ear, 
A long known voice — alas! too vainly near! 
Loud sung the wind above; and, doubly loud, 
Shook o'er his tuiTet cell the thunder-cloud; 
And flash'd the lightning by the latticed bar, 
To bim more genial than the midnight star: 
Close to the glimmering grate he dragg'd his 

chain, 
And hoped that peril might not prove in vain. 
He raised his iron hand to Heaven, and pray'd 
One pitying flash to mar the form it made: 
His steel and impious prayer attract alike — 
Th'j stonn roll'd onward, and disdain'd to strike; 
Its peal wax'd fainter — ceased — he felt alone, 
As if some faitldess friend had spum'd his groan! 



The midnight pass'd — and to the massy door 
A light step came — it paused — it moved once 

more ; 
Slow turns the grating bolt and sullen key : 
'T i» &s his heart foreboded — that fair she ! 



Wnate er her sins, to him a gaar lian saint, 

A nd beauteous still as hcnnit'shope csxi paintj 
Yetchanged since last within that cell she came, 
More pale her cheek, more tremulous her frame. 
On him she cast her dark and humed eye. 
Which spoke before her accents — "Thou must 

die I 
Yes, thou must die — there is but one resource, 
The last — the worst — if torture were not worse." 

" Lady I I look to none — my lips proclaim 
"V^Tiat last proclaim" d they — Conrad still the 
same : [spare, 

Why should'st thou seek an outlaw's life to 
And change the sentence I deserve to bear? 
Well have I eam'd — nor here alone — the meed 
Of Scyd's revenge, by many a lawless deed." 

" Why should I seek ? because — Oh ! didst thoa 

not 
Redeem my life from worse than slavery's lot? 
Whv should I seek ? — hath misery made thee 

'blind 
To the fond workings of a woman's mind? 
And must I say? albeit my heart rebel 
With all that woman feels, but should not tell— 
Because — despite thy crimes — that heart is 

moved : [ — loved. 

It fear'd thee — thank'dthee — pitied — madden'd 
Reply not, tell not now thy tale again, 
Thou iov'st another — and I love in vain; 
Tho'igh fond as mineher bosom, form more faJt, 
I rush through peril which she would not dare. 
If that thy heart to hers were truly dear, 
Were I thine own — thou wert not lonely here: 
An outlaw's spouse — and leave her lord to roam! 
What hath such gentle dame to do with home? 
But speak not now — o'er thine and o'er my head 
Hangs the keen sabre by a single thread; 
If thou hast courage still, and would'stbe free, 
Receive this poniard — ^rise — and follow me ! " 

" Ay — in my chains ! my steps will gently tread. 
With these adornments, o'er each slumbering 

head! 
Thou hast forgot — is this a garb for flight? 
Or is that instnunent more fit for fight?" 

" Misdoubting Corsair! Ihave gain'dtheguai4 
Ripe for revolt, and greedy for reward. 
A single word of mine removes that chain . 
Without some aid how here could I remain? 
Well, since we met, hath sped my busy tvme. 
If in aught evil, for thy sake the crime : 
The crime — 'tis none to punish those of Seyd 
That hated tyrant, Gonrad — he niurt bleed ! 



THE CORSAIR. 



45 



I see thee sna^der — but 1117 soul is changed — 
WroDg'd, spiun'd, reviled — and it shall be 

avenged — 
Accused of what till now my heart disdain'd— 
Too faithful, though to bitter bondage chain'd. 
Yes, smile ! — but he had little cause to sneer, 
I \v as not treacherous then — nor ihou too deai" : 
But he has said it — and tlie jealous well, 
Those tyrants, teasing, tempting to rebel. 
Deserve the fate their fretting lips foretell. 
i never loved — he bought me — somewhat 

high— 
Since with me came a heart he could not buy. 
I was a slave unmurmuring : he hath said, 
But for his rescue I with thee had tied. 
'Twas false thou know'st — ^but let such augurs 

rue, 
Their words are omens Insult renders tnie. 
Nor was thy respite gi"anted to my prayer; 
This fleeting grace was only to prepare 
New torments for thy life, and my despair. 
Mine too he threatens ; but his dotage still 
Would fain resei-ve me for b'S I-jsruiy will: 
When wearier of these fleeting chaims and me, 
There yawns the sack — and yonder rolls the 

sea ' 
What, am I then a toy for dotard's play. 
To wear but till the gilding frets away ? 
I saw thee — loved thee — owe th .e all— -would 

save, 
If but to show how grateful is a slave. 
But had he not thus menaced fame and life, 
(And well he keeps his oaths pronounced in 

strife,) 
I still had saved thee — but the Pacha spared. 
Now I am all thine own — for all prepared : 
Thou lov'st me not — nor know'st — or but the 

worst. 
Alas I this love — that hatred are the first — 
Oh ! could' st thou prove my truth, thou would' st 

net start, 
Nor fear the fire that lights an Eastern heart ; 
'T is now the beacon of thy safety — now 
It points within the port a Mainote prow : 
But in one chamber, where our path must lead, 
There sleeps — he must not wake — the oppressor 

Seyd ! " 

"Gulnare — Gulnare — I never fell till now 
My abject fortune, wither d fame so low: 
Seyd is mine enemy: had swept my band 
From eaith with ruthless but with open hand 
And therefore came I, in my bark of war, 
To smite the smiter with the scimitar; 
Buch is my weapon — not the secret knifo — ■ 
Who spares a woman's seeks not olumber'slif*. 



Thine saved I gladly, L ady, not for this— 
Let me not deem that mercy shown amiss. 
Now faie thee well — more peace be with thj 

breast ! 
Night wears apace — my last of ea'thly rest I " 

" Rest ! rest ! by sunrise must thy sinews shaken 
And thy limbs writhe around tlie ready stake. 
I heard the order — saw — I will not see — 
If thou wilt perish, I will fall with thee. 
My life — my love — my hatred — all below 
Are on tliis cast — Corsair! 't is but a blow! 
Without it flight were idle — how evade 
His sure pursuit ? my wTongs too unrepaid. 
My youth disgraced — the long, long wasted 

years. 
One blow shall cancel with our future fears ; 
But since the dagger suits thee less than brand, 
I 'll try the fumness of a female hand. 
The guards are gain'd — one moment all wer< 

o'er — 
Corsair ! we meet in safety or no more , 
If eiTS my feeble hand, the morning cloud 
Will hover o'er thy scalibld, and my shroud. 

IX. 

She turn'd, and vanish'd ere he could reply, 
But his glance followed far with eager eye ; 
And gathering, as he could, the links that bound 
His fonn, to curl iheir length, and curb theii 

sound. 
Since bar and bolt no more his steps preclude. 
He, fast as fetter'd limbs allo«-, pursued. 
'T was dark and winding, and he knew no< 

where [there- 

That passage led; nor lamp nor guard wer« 
He sees a dusky glimmering — shall he seek 
Or shun that ray so indistinct and weak? 
Chance guides his steps — a freshness seems 

bear 
Full on his brow, as if from morning air — 
He reach'd an open gallery — on his eye 
Gleara'd the last star of night, the clearing sky? 
Yet scarcely heeded these — another light 
From a lone chamber struck upon his sight. 
Towards it he moved ; a scarcely closing doot 
Rcveal'd the ray within, but nothing more. 
With hasty step a figure outward past, 
Then paused — and turn'd — and paused — 'tis 

She at last ! 
No poniard in that hand — nor sign of ill— 
" Thanks to that softening heait — she couM 

not kill ! " 
Again he look'd, the wildness of her eye 
Starts from the day abrupt and learfully. 



46 



THE CORSAnc. 



She strpp'd — threw back her aark fa'- -floating 

hair, 
That, neaily veil'd her face and bosom fair: 
As if she late had bent her leaning head 
Above some object of htr doubt oj dread, 
i'hey meet — upon her brow — unknown — for- 
got— 
Her hunying hand had left — 't was but a spot — 
Its hue was all he saw, and scarce withstood — 
Oh. slight but certain pledge of crime — 'tis 
blood I 



He had seen battle — he had broodr.d lone 
O'er promised pangs to sentenced guilt fore- 
shown ; [chain 
He had been tempted — chastened — and the 
Yet on his arms might ever there remain : 
But ne'er from strife — captivity — remorse — 
From all his feelings in their inmost force — 
So thriU'd — so shudder'd eveiy creeping vein, 
As now they IVoze before that purple stain. 
That spot of blood, that light but guilty streak, 
Hatl banish'd all the beauty from her cheek ! 
Blood he had view'd — could view unmoved — 

but then 
It flow'd in combat, or was shed by men! 



"'Tis done — he nearly waked — ^but it is done. 
Corsair ! he perish'd — ihou art dearly won. 
All words would now be vain — away — away! 
Our bark is tossing — 't is already day. 
The few gain'd over, now are wholly mine, 
Arvd these thy yet surviving band shall join : 
Aiion my voice shall vindicate my hand, 
When once our sail forsakes this hated strand." 



She clapp'd her hands — and through the gal- 
lery poar, [Moor; 
Equijip'd for flight, her vassals — Greek and 
Silent but quick they stoop, his chains tmbind ; 
Once moi-e his limbs are free as mountain wind ! 
But on his heavy heart such sadness sate, 
As if they there transferr'd that iron weight. 
No woi-ds are ntterd — at her sign, a door 
Kevcals the secret passage to the shore; 
The city lies behind — they speed, they reach 
The glad waves dancing on the yellow beach; 
And Conrad following, at her beck, obey'd, 
Nor cared he now if rescued or betray'd ; 
Resistance were as useless as if Seyd 
Vet lived to view the dooin his ire decreed 



Embark'd, the sail unfurl'd, the light brecan 

blew— 
How much had Conrad's memory to review ! 
Sunk he in Contemplation, till the cape 
Where last he anchor'd rear'd its giant sb.ape, 
Ah ! — since that fatal night, though brief tJie 

time, 
Had swept an age of teiTor, gi'ief, and crime. 
As its fai- shadow frown'd above the mast, 
He veil'd his face, and sorrow'd as he pa.ss'4; 
He thought of all— Gonsalvo and his band. 
His fleeting triumph and his failing hand; 
He thought on her afar, his lonely bride : 
He tui-n'd and saw — Gulnare, the homicide! 



She watch'd his features till she could not beai 
Their freezing aspect and averted air. 
And that strange fierceness foreign to her eye. 
Fell quench'd in tears, too late to shed or dry. 
She knelt beside Inm and his hand she pressed, 
" Thou may'st forgive though Alias self detest. 
But for that deed of darkness what wert thou? 
Rtproachme — but not yet — Oh ! spare me now! 
I am not what I seem — this fearful night 
My brain bewilder' d — do not madden quite ! 
If 1 had never loved — though less my guilt, 
Thouhadstnot lived to — hate me — if thou wilt' 



She wTongs nis thoughts, they more himseU 
upbraid [made; 

Than her, though undesign'd, the wretch he 
But speechless all, deep, dark, and unexprest. 
They bleed within that silent cell — his breast 
Still onward, fair the brceze.nor rough the surge. 
The blue waves sport around the stern they urge; 
Far on the horizon's verge appears a speck, 
A spot — a mast — a sail — an armed deck ! 
Their little bark her men of watch descry. 
And ampler canvasswoos the wind from high; 
She bears her down majestically near. 
Speed on her pro-v, ancl terror in her tier; 
A flash is seen — the l)all beyond their bow 
Booms hannle.ss, hissing to the deep below. 
Up rose keen Conrad from his silent trance, 
A I'^'-'g, long absent^gladness in his glance; 
"Tismine — my bloo'd-red flag! again — again— 
I am not all deseited on the main ! " 
They own the signal, answer to the hail. 
Hoist out the boat at once, and slacken saiL 
"'Tis Conrad! Conrad!" shotiting from the 
' deck. 
Command nor dtity could their transport check . 



THE CORSAIR. 



47 



With light alacrity ar.i gaze of pride, 

They view bim mount once more his vessel's 

side ; 
A sirile relaxing in each rugged face, 
Their arms can scarce forbear arougli embrace. 
He, half forgetting danger and defeat, 
Returns their greeting as a chief may greet. 
Wrings with a cordial grasp Anselmo's hand, 
And feels he yet can conquer ana command ! 



These greetings o'er, the feelings that o'erflow, 
Tet grieve to win him back without a blow ; 
They sailed prepared for vengeance — had they 

known 
A woman's hand secured that deed her own, 
She were their queen — less scrupulous are they 
Than haughty Conrad how they (vin their way. 
"With many an asking smile and wondering 

stare. 
They whisper round, and gaze upon Gnlnare; 
And her, at once above— beneath her sex, 
Whom blood appall'd not, their resards perple.f, 
To Conrad turns her faint imploring eye, 
She drops her veil, and stands in silence by; 
Her arms are meekly folded on that breast. 
Which — Conrad safe-^to fate resigned the rest. 
Though worse than frenzy could that bosom fill, 
Extreme in love or hate, in good or ill. 
The worst of crimes had left her woman still! 



This Conrad mark'd, and felt — ah! could ht 



"Gulnare!"— butshe replied not— "deai 3u]. 

nare ! " 
She raised her eye— her only answer there— 
At once she sought and sunk in his embrace: 
If he had driven her from tliat resting-placs, 
His had been more or less than mortal heart, 
Bnt— good or ill— it bade her not depart. 
Perchance, but for the bodings of his breast, 
His latest virtue then had join'd the rest. 
Yet even Medora might forgive the kiss 
That ask'd from form so fair no more than this, 
The first, the last that Frailty fstole from Faith— 
To lips where Love had lavish'd all his breath, 
To lips — whose broken sighs such fragrance 

fling 
As he had fann'd them freshly with his wing I 



They gain by twilight's hour their lonely isle. 

To them the very rocks appear to smile: 

The haven hums with many a cheering sound, 

The beacons blaze their wonted stations round, 

The boats are darting o'er the curly bay. 

And sportive dolphins bend them through th« 

spray ; [shriek 

Even the hoarse sea-bird's shrill, discmlant 
Greets like the welcome of liis tuneless oeak 
Beneath each lamp that through its lattice 

gleams, [beams. 

Their fancy paints the friends that trim the 
Oh! what can sanctify the joys of home. 
Like Hope's gay glance from Ocean's troubled 

foam ? 



Hate of that deed — but grief for her distress; 
"What she has done no tears can wash away, 
And Heaven must punish on its angry day: 
But — it was done: he knew, whate'erher guilt, 
For him that poniard smote, that blood was 

spilt; 
And he was free! — and she for him had given 
Her all on earth, and more than all in heaven 
And nowheturn'd him to that dark-eyed slave, 
Whose brow was bow'd beneath the glance he 

gave. 
Who now seem'd changed and humbled;— 

faint and meek, 
But varying oft the color of her cheek 
To deeper shades of paleness — all its red 
That fearful spot which stain'd it from the dead 1 
He took that hand— it trembled— now too late — 
Bo soft in love— so wildly nerved in hate ; 
He clasp'd that hand — it trembled — and his 

own 
Ejkd lost its firmness, and his voice its tone. 



The lights are high on beacon and from bower, 
And 'midst them Conrad seeks Medora's tower; 
He looks in vain— 'tis strange— and all remark. 
Amid so many, hers alone is dark. 
'Tis strange— of yore its welcome never faii'd, 
Nor now, perchance, extinguish'd, only veil'd. 
With the first boat descends he for the shore, 
And looks impatient on the lingering oar. 
Oh! for a wing beyond the falcon's flight. 
To bear him like an arrow to that height! 
With the first pause the resting rowers gave, " 
He waits not— looks not— leaps into the wave. 
Strives through the surge, bestrides the beach, 

and high 
Ascends the path familiar to his eye 

He reach "d his turret door — he paused— na 

sound 
Broke from within ; and all was night around 
He knock'd and loudly— footstep nor reply, 
Announced that any heard or deem'd hiui nigh 



48 



THE CORSAIR. 



Es knock d— Dili faintly — for his trembling 

hand 
Refused to aid nis heavy heart's demand. 
The portal opens — "t is a well known face — 
But not the form he panted to embrace. 
Its lips are sileut — twice his own essay'd, 
And fail'd to frame the question they delay* d; 
He snatch'd the lamp— its light will answer 

ali— 
It quits his grasp, expiring in the fall 
He would not wait for that reviving ray — 
as soon could he have linger'd there for day ; 
But, glimmering through the dusky comdore, 
Another chequers o'er the shadow'd floor; 
His steps the chamber gain — his eyes behold 
All that his heait believed not — ^yet foretold 1 



Ele tum'd not — spoke not — sunk not — ^fix'dhis 

look, 
And set tlic anxious frame that lately shook: 
He gazed — how long we gaze despite of pain, 
And know, but dare not own, we gaze in vain ! 
In life itself she was so still and fair, 
That death with gentLer aspect w^ither'd there; 
And the cold floweni'S her colder handcontain'd, 
In that last gi-asp as tenderly were strain'd 
As if she scarcely felt, but feign'd a sleep, 
And made it almost mockery yet to weep : 
The long dark lashes fringed her lids of snow, 
And vei I'd — thought shrinks from all didt hu-k'd 

btlow — 
Oh ! o'er the eye Death most exerts his might, 
And hurls the spirit from her throne of light; 
Sinks those blue orbs in that long last eclipse. 
But spares, as yet, the chann aroimd her lips — 
Yet, yet they seem as they forbore to smile, 
And wish'd repose — but only for a while ; 
But the white shroud, and each extended tress. 
Long — fair — but spread in utter lifelessness, 
Which, late tlie sport of every summer wind, 
Escaped the baffled wreath that strove to bind. 
These — and the pale pure cheek, became the 

bier — 
iJut she is nothing — wherefore is he here? 



He a.sk'd no question — al were answer'c now 
By tlie first glance on that still — marble 1 tow. 
It was enough — she died — whatreck'd ith )w? 
The love of youth, the hope of better \ea.r\, 
The source of softest wishes, tenderest fea.>», 
The only living thing he could not hate, 
Was reJt at once — and he deserved his fate, 



But did not feel it less; — the good exploTB, 
For peace, these realms where guilt can ntr^ 

soar : 
The proud — the waywai-d — who have fix'd 

below 

Their joy, and find this earth enough for woe, " 
Lose in that one their all — perchance a mite— 
But who ii patience parts with all delight? 
Full mar y a stoic eye and aspect stern 
Mask hearts where gi-ief hath little left to learn -, 
And many a%vithering thought lies hid, not lost. 
In smiles that least befit who wear them most. 



By those, that deepest feel, is ill exprest 
The indistinctness of the sufi'ering breast ; 
Where thousand thoughts begin to end in one, 
Wliich seeks from all the refuge found in none; 
No words suffice the secret soul to show, 
For Truth denies all eloquence to Woe. 
On Conrad's stricken soul exhaustion preat, 
And stupor almost lull'd it into rest ; 
So feeble now — his mother's softness crept 
To those wild eyes, w^hich like an infant's wept : 
It was the veiy weakness of his brain. 
Which thus confess'd without relieving pain- 
None saw his tricklingtears — perchance,ifseea. 
That useless flood of grief had never been : 
Nor long they flow'd — he dried them to depart. 
In helpless — hopeless — brokenness of heart: 
The .sun goes forth — ^but Conrad's day is dim; 
And the night cometh — ne'er to pass from him. 
There is no darkness like the cloud of mind, 
On Grief's vain eye— the bhndest ol the blind ! 
Which may not — dare not see — but turns asids 
To blackest shade — nor will endure a gu:.de ! 



His heart was form'd for softness— warp'd to 

WTong ; 
Betray'd too early, aud beguiled too long; 
Eachfeeling pure — as fails the dropping dc^ 
Within the grot; like that had harden'd too; 
Less clear, perchance, its earthly trials pass''!. 
But sunk, aci chill'd, and petrified at last. 
Yet tempests wear, and lightning cleaves tha 

rock, 
If such his heart, so shatter'd it the shock. 
There grew one flower beneath its rugged brow, 
Though dark the shade — it shelter' d — saved 

till now. 
The thunder came — that bolt hath blasted bott, 
The Granite's fuinness, and the Lily's giowth 
The gentle plant hath left no leaf to tea 
Its tale, biU sbi-unk and wither'd whore it f«ft| 



THE CORSAIR. 



4i) 



Lad of its cold protector, blacken round 

But shiverd fragments ou the barren ground ! 



T is mom — to venture on his lonely hour 
Few dare ; tliough now Anselmo sought his 

tower. 
He was not there — nor seen along tne shore ; 
Ere night, alarm'd, their isle is ti'aversed 

o'er: 
^noiner morn — Another bids them seek, 
knd shout loA uame till 9cho waxetb weak ; 



Mount— grotto— caTem — valley search "d in 

vain, 
They find on shore a sea-boat's broken chain : 
Their hope revives — they follow o'er the main 
'T is idle all — moons roll on moons away, 
And Conrad comes not — came not since thai 

day: 
Nor trace, nor tidings of his doom declare 
"VVTiere lives his grief, or perish'd his despair! 
Long moura'd his band whom none could 

mourn beside ; 
And fair the monument they gave his bride : 
For him they raise not the recording stojie — 
His death yet dubious, deeds too widely known ; 
He left a Corsairs name to other times, 
Liuk'd with one virtue, »nd a thousand criaeaft 



ILara ; a Cale. 



"^ara. 



CANTO THE FIR8T. 



Thb Serfs' are glad through Lara's wide 

domain, 
And slavery half forgets her feudal chain ; 
He, their unhoped, but unforgottcn lord, 
The long self-exiled chieftain, is restored : 
There be bright face, in the busy hall, 
Bowls on the board, and banners on tlie wall ; 
Far checkering o'er the pictured window, plays 
The unwonted faggots' hospitable blaze ; 
And gay retainers gather round the hearth, 
With tongues all loudness, and with eyes all 

mirth. 

II. 

The chief cf Lara is retura'd again : 
And why had Lara cross'd the bounding main ? 
Left by his sire, too young such loss to know, 
Lord of himself; — that heritage of woe. 
That fearful empire which the human breast 
But holds to rob the heart within of rest! — 
With none to check and few to point in time 
The thousand paths that slope the way to crime ; 
Then, when he most required commandment, 

then 
Had Lara's daring boyhood govem'd men. 
rt skills not, boots not step by step to trace 
His youth through all the mazes of its race; 
S>iort was the course his restlessness had run, 
Bu. loMg enough U> leave him half undone 



flL 

And Lara left in youth his fathe'-laiid; 
But from the hour he wa\ td his parting hanj 
Each trace wax'd fainter of his course, till al 
Had nearly ceased his memoi-j- to recall. 
His sire was dust, his vassals cojld declare, 
'T was all they knew, that Lai a was not there : 
Nor sent, nor came he, till corjecture grew 
Cf)ld in the many, anxious in ilie few. 
His hall scarce echoes with his wonted nazoi, 
His portrait darkens in its fading frame, 
Another chief consoled his destined bride. 
The young forgot him, and the old Lai iil«l{ 
" Yet doth he live!" exclaims the impatient heii 
And sighs for sables wiiich he must not wear. 
A hundred scutcheons deck with gloomy gi-ac« 
The Laras' last and longest dwelling-place ; 
But one is absent from the mouldering file. 
That now were welcome in that Gothic pile. 

IV. 

He comes at last in sudden loneliness. 
And whence they know not, why they neetl 
not guess ; [o'er, 

They more might marvel, when the gi'eeting's 
Not that he came, but came not long before • 
No train is his beyond a single page. 
Of foreign aspect, and of tender ago 
Years had roll'd on, and fast they speed away 
To those that wander as to those that stay ; 
But lack of tidings from another clime 
Had lent a flagging wing to weary Time. 
They see, tbey recognise, yet almost deem 
The present dubious, or the past a dream. 

He lives, nor yet is past his manhood's prime. 
Though sear'd' by toil, and something toui;h'd 
by time ; 



LARA. 



5] 



His fai. its, whate'er they were, if scarce forgot, 
Might be untaught him by his variefl lot ; 
Nor good nor ill of late were known, his name 
Might yet uphold his patrimonial fame: 
His soul in youth was haugi.ly, but his sins 
No more than pleasure from the sUnplingwins; 
And such, if not yet harden'd in tlieir course, 
Mii,ht be redeem'd, nor ask a long remorse. 



And they indeed were changed — 'tis quickly 

seen, 
Whate'er he be, 't was not what he had been : 
That brow in fmrow'd lines had fix'd at last, 
A nd spake of passions, but of passion past : 
The pride, but not the fire, of early days, 
Colchiess of mien, and c;u-ftlessncss of praise; 
A high demeanour, and a glance that took 
Their thoughts frOm others by a single look; 
And that sarcastic levity of tongue, 
The stinging of a heart the world hath stung, 
That daits in seeming playfulness around, 
And makes those feel that will not own the 

wound ; [neath, 

All these seem'd his, and sometliing more be- 
Than glance could well reveal,or accent breathe. 
Ambition, glory, love, the common aim. 
That some can conquer,and that all would claim. 
Within his breast appear'd no more to strive, 
Vet seem'd as lately they had been alive; 
And some deep feeling it were vain to trace 
At moments lightened o'er his livid face. 

VI. 

Not much he loved long question of the past 
Nor told of wondrous wilds, and deserts vast, 
In those far lands where he had wander'd lone, 
And — as himself woidd have it seem — un- 
known : 
Vft these in vain his eye could scarcely scan, 
Nor glean experience from his fellow man ; 
But what he had beheld he shunn'd to show, 
A? hardly worth a stranger's care to know; 
If slill more prying such inquiry grew. 
Ills brow fell darker, and his words more few. 

VII. 

Vnf unrejoiced to see him once aj^ain, 
NVa TO was his welcome to the haunts of men; 
!V-r 1 of high lineage, link'd ia high command, 
Uc mingled with the Magnates of his land ; 
'oin'd the carousals of the gieat and gay, 
And saw them smile or sigh their hours away; 
But still he only saw, and did not share, 
The common pl*"v%u«* the general care; 



He did not follow what they all pursued, 
With hope still baffkd still to be rcnew'd ; 
Nor shadowy honotu', nor substantial gain. 
Nor beauty's preference, and tlic rival's pain 
Around him some mysterious circle thrown 
Repell'd approach, and show'd him still alone; 
Upon his eye sat something of reproof. 
That kept at least frivolity aloof; 
And things more timid that beheld him neaj 
In silence gazed, or whisper'd mutual fear ; 
And they the wiser, friendlier few confess'd 
They deem'd him better than his air express d 

VIII. 

*T was strange — in youth all action and all life 
Burnnig for pleasure, not a'^erse from strife; 
Woman — the field — the ocean — all that gave 
Promise of gladness, pciil of a grave. 
In turn he tried — he ransack'd all below. 
And found his recompence in joy or woe. 
No tame, trite medium; for his feelings sougla 
In that intenseness an escape from thought: 
The tempest of his heart in scorn had gazed 
On that the feebler elements hath raised ; 
The rapture of his heart had look'd on high. 
And ask'd if greater dwelt beyond the sky: 
Chain'd to excess, the slave of each extreme, 
How woke he from the wildness of that dream? 
Alas! he told not — but he did awake 
To curse the wither'd heait that would not break, 

IX. 

Books, for his volume heretofore was Man, 
With eye more curious he appear'd to scan. 
And oft, in sudden mood, for many a day, 
From all communion Tie would start away: 
And then, his rarely call'd attendants said. 
Through night's long hours would sound hii 

huiTied tread 
O'er the dark gallery, where his fathers frowii d 
In rude but antique portraiture around: 
They heard, but whisper'd — "that must not be 

kno vn — 
The sound of words less earthly than his own. 
Yes, they who chose might smile, but some had 

seen [have bee a. 

They scarce knew what, but more than should 
^Vhy gazed he so upon the ghastly head 
Which hands profane had gather'd from the 

dead. 
That still beside his open'd volume lay, 
As if to startle all save him away? 
Why slept he not when others were at rest? 
Vklij heard no music, and received no guest? 
All was not well, they deem'd — but wtere the 

wrong? [long; 

Some knew perchance — ^but 't ware a tale to« 

K 2 



52 



LARA. 



And such besides were too discreetly wise, 
To more than hint thsir knowledge in suiinise; 
But if they would — they could" — ai-ouiid the 

board. 
Thus Laras tossaIs prattled of their lord. 



It «rf^ the night — and Lara's glassy stream 
The stars ai-e studding, each with imaged beam; 
So calm, the waters scarcely seem to sti-ay, 
And yet they glide like happiness away; 
Reflecting far and fairy-like from high 
The immortal lights that live along the sky: 
Its banks are fringed with many a goodly tree, 
And flowers the fairest that may feaj,t the bee ; 
Such in her chaplet infant Dian wove. 
And Innocence would ofl'er to her love. 
These deck the shore; the waves their channel 

make 
In windings bright and mazy like the snake. 
AU was so still, so soft in earth and air. 
You scarce would start to meet a spirit there; 
Secme that nought of evil could delight 
To walk in such a scene, on such a night ! 
It was a moment only tor the good : 
So Lara deemd, nor longer there he stood, 
But turn'd in silence to his castlc-gate; 
Such scene his soul no more could contemplate: 
Such scene reminded him of other days, 
Of skies more cloudless, moons of purer blaze. 
Of nights more soft and frequent, heaits that 

now — 
No — no— the storm may beat upon his brow, 
Unfelt — unsparing — but a night like this, 
A night of e^tsMty, mock'd such breast as his. 



He turn'd within his solitary hall. 
And his high shadow shot along the wall : 
There were the painted forms of other limes, 
'T was all they left of virtues or of crimes, 
ave vague tradition; and the gloomy vaults 
'hat hid their dust, their foibles, and their faults ; 
nd half a column of the pompous page. 
That speeds the specious tale from age to age ; 
Wliere history's pen its praise or blame supplies, 
And lies like truth, and still most traly lies. 
lie wftndering mused, and as the moonbeam 

shone 
Through the dim lattice o'er the floor of stone, 
And the high fretted roof, and saints, that there 
O'er Gothic windows knelt in pictured prayer, 
Keflected in fantastic figw'es grew. 
Like life, but not like mortal life, to view; 
bristling locks of sable, brow of gloom, 
the wide waving of his suaken plume, 



Glanced like a spectre's attributes, and ghat 
His aspect all that teiTor gives the gi-ave. 



'Twas midnight — all was slumber: the ion« 

light 
Dimm'd in the lamp, as loth to break the night 
Haik ! there be mui-murs heard in I<ai-a's hall — 
A sound — a voice — a shriek — a fearful cidl. 
A long, loud shi-iek — and silence — did tliev heai 
That frantic echo burst the sleeping ear? 
They heard and rose, and, tremulously brave, 
Rush where the sound invoked their aid to save; 
They come with half-lit tapers in their hands. 
And snatch'd in startled haste unbelted brands 



Cold as the marble where his length was laid, 
Pale as the beam that o'er his features play'd, 
Was Lara stretch' d; his half-drawn sabre near, 
Dropp'd it should seem in more than nature'i 

fear; 
Yet he was firm, or had been finn till now. 
And stiil defiance knit his gather'd brow; 
Though mix'd with terror, senseless as he lay 
There lived upon his lip the wish to slay; 
Some half-fonn'd threat in utterance there had 

died, 
Some imprecation of despairing pride ; 
His eye was almost seal'd, but not forsook 
Even in its trance the gladiator's look, 
That oft awake his as])ect could disclose, 
And now was fix'd in horrible repose. 
The\^ raise him — beai'him ; — hush! he breather, 

he speaks. 
The swarthy blush recolours in his cheeks. 
His lip resmnes its red, his eye, though dim. 
Rolls wide and wild, each slowly quivering limb 
Recalls its function, but his words are strung 
In terms that seem not of his native tongue; 
Distinct but strange, enough they understand 
To deem them accents of another land ; 
And such they were, and meant to meet an csu 
That hears hiin not — alas '. that cannot heai- . 



His page approach'd, and he alone appear'd 
To know the import of the words they heard; 
And, by the changes of his cheek and brow. 
They were not such as Lara siiouid avow, 
Nor he interpret, — yet with less suiprise 
Than those around their chi eft ain's state he eye« 
But Lara's prostrate form he bent beside. 
And in tha' tongue which seem'd his c^^i 
lepiieJ 



IJiRA, 



53 



Atid Lara heeds those tonej tliat gently seem 
To soothe away the honors of his dream — 
If dream it were, that thus could overthrow 
A. brcaat that needed not ideal woe. 



Wbateer nis frenzy dream'd or eye beheld, 
If yet rernember'd ne'er to be revcal'd. 
Rests at his hcait : the cuslom'i moniiug came, 
And brei'thed new vigour in his shaken frame ; 
.ind solace soughthe none from jiriest nor leech, 
dxd soon the same in movciaeut ami in speech 
As heretofore he fiU'd the passing hours, — 
Norlesshesmiles,norraore his forehead lo^vers, 
Than these were wont ; and if the coming night 
Appear'd less welcome now to Lara's sig^'t, 
He 'o his marvelling vassals shov/'d it not, 
Whose shuddering proved ttieir fear was less 

forgot. 
In trembling pairs (alone thev dared not) crawl, 
The astonish'd slaves, and shun the fated hall ; 
The waving banner, and the clajiping door, 
The riistling tapestiy, and the echoing door; 
The long dim shadows of sun'ounding trees, 
The flapping bat, the night song of the breeze ; 
Aught tliey behold or hear their thought appals, 
As evening saddens o'er the dark grey waiis. 



Fain thought ! that hour of ne'er unravell'd 

gloom 
Ceme not again, or Lara could assume 
A seeming of forgetfnlness, that made 
His vassals more amazed nor less afraid — 
Had memory vanish'd then with sense restored? 
Since w(jrd, nor look, nor gesture of their lord 
Betray'd a feeling tliat recall'd to these 
That fever'd moriieni of his mind's disease. 
Was it a dream? was his the voice that spoke 
Those sUange wild accents; his the C17 that 

broke [heart 

Their slumber? his the oppress' d, o'erlabour'd 
That ceased to beat, the look that made them 

stait? 
Could he who thus had sufler'd so forget. 
When such as saw that suffering shudde" yet? 
Or did that silence prove his memory fix'd 
Too deep for words, indelible, unmix'd 
In that coiToding secrecy which gnaws 
The hcait to show the effect, but not the cause ? 
\ot so in him; his breast had buried both, 
\or coramnn gazers coidd discera the growth 
Of thoughts ilia! mortal lips mustleave half told ; 
Vhev ch.oKe the feeble words that would unfold. 



In him inexplicably mix i appear" i 

Much to be loved and hated, sccght an^ 

Icai-'d ; 
Opinion varying o'er his hidden lot. 
In praise or railir^g ne'er his name forgot: 
His silence fonu'd a theme fur others' prate ^ 
They guess'd — they gazed — they fain wo .. c 

know his fate. 
What had he been ? what was he, tlnis un 

known, [kuown? 

Who w;dk'd their world, his lineage only 
A hater of his kind? yet some would say. 
With them he could seem gay amidst the gay , 
But own'd that smile, ifoll observed and near, 
Waned in its mirth, and wither'd to a sneer 
That smile might reach his lip, but pass'd not 

None e'er could trace its laughter to his eye 
Yet there was softness too in his regai'd, 
At times, a heart as not by natm-e baid 
But once perceived, his spirit seem'd to chid* 

Sucii weakness, as unworthy of its pride, 

And steei'd itself as scorning to redeem 

One doubt from others' half withheld esteem; 

In self-inflicted penance of a breast 

Which tenderness might once have wrung trom 

rest ; 
In vigilance of grief that would compel 
The sold to hate for having loved too well. 



There was in him a vital scorn of all : 
As if the worst had fall'n which could befall. 
He stood a stranger in this breathing world, 
An erring spirit from another hurl'd, 
A thing of dark imaginings, that shaped 
By choice the perils he by chance escaped ; 
But 'scaped in vain, for in their memory yet 
His mind woidd half exult and half regret; 
With more capacity for love than earth. 
Bestows on most of mortal mould and birth. 
His early dreams of good outstripped the trutli,, 
And troubled manhood follovv'd bafiflcd youth ; 
Witli thought of years in phantom chase mis- 

spent, 
And wasted powers for better purpose lent ; 
And fiery passions that had pour'd their v.rail! 
In hurried desolation o'er his path. 
And left the better feelings all at strife 
In wild reflection o'er his stormy life ; 
But haughty still, and loth himself to b'anie, 
He call'd on Nature's self to share tlie p!;;inie 
A.kI charged all fiults upon tiie fleshy fonn 
She s;ave to clog the soui, and feast the worir 



LARA. 



lil; ;i2 it I'asi confountied good and ilj, 
And hivlf mistook for fate ti.e acts of will: 
Too high for common selfishness, he could 
^l times resign his own for others' good, 
But lot in pity, not because lie ought, 
But in some strange perversity of thought, 
Th^it sway'd him onwai'd with a secret pride 
To do what few or none would do beside ; 
Anl tliis same impulse would, in tempting time, 
Mislead his spirit eqnnlly to crime; 
So much he soar'd beyond, or sunk beneath, 
The men with whom he felt conderan'd to 

breathe ; 
And long'd by good or ill to separate 
Himself from ;ill who shared his mortal state; 
His mind abhon'ing this had fix'd her throne 
Far from the world, in regions of her own : 
Thus coldly passing all that pass'd below. 
His blood intemperate seeming now would flow: 
4.h! happier if it ne'er with guilt hud glow'd, , 
But ever in that icy smoolhness flow'd! 
T is true, with other men their path he walk'd," 
4.nd like the rest in seeming did and tallc'd, 
Nor outraged Reason's rules by flaw nor start. 
His madness was not of the head, but heart; 
And rayely wander'd in his speech, or drew 
His thoughts so forth as to offend the view. 



•Tith all that chilling mystery of mien, 
*.nd seeming gladness to remain unseen, 
He had (if 'twere not nature's boon) an art 
')f fixing memory on another's heai t : 
[t was notlove perchance — nor hale — nor aught 
That words can image to express ihe thought ; 
But they who saw him did not see in vain, 
And once beheld, would ask of him again : 
And those to whom he spake remember'd well, 
And on the words, however light, would dwell : 
None knew, nor how, nor why, but he entwined 
Himself perforce around the hearer's mind ; 
Fhere he was stamp'd, in liking, or in hate, 
(f greeted once ; liowever brief the date 
rbat friendship, pity, or aversion knew, 
Biill there witliin the inmost thought he grew. 
Vou could not penetrate his soul, but found, 
Despite your wonder, to your own he wound; 
llis presence haunted still ; and from the breast 
He forced an all unwilling interest : 
V'ain was the stniggle in that mental net. 
His spirit seem'd to dare you to forget ! 



Appear — a highborn and a welcrme guest 

Td Otho's hall came Lara with the rest 
The long carousal shakes the illumined hall. 
Well speeds alike the banquet and the ball ; 
And the gay dance of bounding Beauty's train 
Links grace and haiTnony in happiest chain: 
Blest are the eai-ly hearts and gentle hands 
That mingle there in well according bands ; 
It is a sight the careful brow might smoott.. 
And make Age smile, and dream itself toy jutS^ 
And Youth Ibrget such hour was past on earth 
So springs the exulting bosom to that mirth 



And Lara gazed on these, sedately glad, 
His brow belied him if his soul was sad; 
And his glance follow'd fast each fluttering fair 
"Whose steps of lightness woke no echo there : 
He lean'd against the lofty pillar nigh. 
With folded aims and long attentive eye. 
Nor mark'd a glance so stenily fix'd on his— 
111 brook'd high Lara scratiny like this : 
At length he caught it — 'tis a face unknown 
But seems as searching his, and his alone ; 
Prying and dark, a stranger's by his mien, 
W7"j still till now had gazed on him unseen: 
At length encountering meets the mutual gaze 
Of keen inquiry, and of mute amaze ; 
On Lara's glance emotion gathering grew, 
As if distrusting that tlie stranger threw; 
Along the stranger's aspect, fix'd and stem, 
Flash'd more thar thence tlie vulgar eye could 
learn. 



" 'T is ho ! " the stranger cried, and those that 

heard 
Re-echoed fast and far the whisper'd word. 
" 'T is he ! " — " 'T is who? " they question tm 

and near, 
Tin louder accents rung on Lara's ear ; 
So widely spread, few bosoms well could brook 
The general marvel, or tliat single look : 
But Lara stirr'd not, changed not, tlie surprise 
That sprung at first to his an-ested eyes 
Seem'd now subsided, neither sunk nor raised 
Glanced his eye round, though still the strangta 

gazed ; 
And drawing nigh,exclaim'd,with haughty sneeii 
" 'T is he ! — how came he thence ? — what dotl 

he here ? " 



Fhore is a festival, "»here knights and dames, 
i»vl aught ih;ii .M.uih or lofty lineajse claims, 



It were too much for Lara to pass by 

Such questions, so repeated fierce and l.'^ ; 



liAllA. 



55 



HTlA '^wk ooBectcd, but with accent cold, 
More uiildly firm tlian iJCtulaiitiy bold, 
He turn'd, and met tiie iuqiiisitoriaJ tone — 
'MynameisLara! — when thine owti isluiown, 
Doubt not my fittiug answer to requite 
The unlook'd for courtesy of such a knight. 
T ii Lara ! — fuither wouldst tliou mark or ask? 
I i.iaiu no question, and I wear no mask." 

■ Thou shimn'st no question ! I'ondcr — is tliere 

none [shun? 

Thy heart must answer, though thine car would 
And deem' St thou me uaknovva too? Gaze 

again! 
At least thy memory was not given iu vain. 
Oh ! never canst thou cancel half her debt, 
Eternity forbids thee to forgcL" 
With slow and searching gliiccc upon his face 
Grev. Lara's eyes, but nothing there could trace 
The' \new, or chose to know — with dubious 

' look 
He udgn'd no answer, but his head he shook, 
And half contemptuous tuni'd to pass away ; 
But tlie stern stranger motion'd him to stay. 
"A word I — I charge thee stay, and answer here 
To one, who, wert thou noble, were thy peer. 
But as thou wast and art — nay, frown not, lord, 
If false, 't is easy to disprove the word — 
But as thou wast and ait, on thee looks down. 
Distrusts thy smilcs,butshake.s not at thy frown. 

Art thou not he? whose deeds " 

" Whate'er I be, 
Words wild a.s these, accusers like to thee, 
I list no farther; those with whom they weigh 
May heai" the rest, nor venture to gainsay 
The wondrous tale no doubt thy tongue can 

tell. 
Which thus begins so courteously and well. 
J^t Otho cherish here his polish'd guest, 
To him my tlianks and thoughts shall be ex- 

press'd." [posed — 

And here their wondering host hath inter- 
** Whate'er there be between you undisclosed, 
This is no time nor fitting place to mar 
The mirthful meeting with a wordy war. 
If thou, Sir Ezzelin, hast aught to show 
Which it befits Count Lara's ear to know, 
TomoiTow, here, or elsewhere, as may best 
Beseem your nuit lal judgment, speak the rest; 
, pledge myself f- r thee, as not unknown, 
Chough, like Coiu-t Lara, now retum'd alone 
/rom other lands, ilmost a stranger grown ; 
And if from Lara s blood and gentle birth 
t augur right of courage and of worth, 
tfe will not that untainted line belie, 
tfor aught that knighthood may a«coH. deny." 



" To-morrow be it,' Ezzelia replied, 
" And here our several worth and truth be tiied 
I gage my life, my fiUchion to uttest 
My words, so may I mingle with liie blest i " 
WTiat answers Lara ? to its centre shrunk 
His soul, in deep abstravtiou sudden sunk ; 
The words of many, an<i the eyes of all 
That there were gather'd, seem'tl on liim to Ja ^ 
But his were silent, his appear'd to sU'uy 
In I'ar forgetfuhiess a^\ay — ».iway — 
Alas ! that heedlessness of all around 
Bespoke remembrance only too profound. 

XXIV. 

" To-morrow ! — ay, t(.>-morrow !" further word 
Than those repeated none from Lara heard ; 
Upon his brow no outward passion spoke ; 
From his large eye no flashing anger broke ; 
Yet there was something fix'd in that low tone 
^\^lich show'd resolve, determined, though ini 

known. 
He seized his cloak — his head he slightly 

bow'd. 
And passing Ezzelin, he left the crowd ; 
And, sis he ])ass'd him, smiling met the frown. 
With" which that chieftain's brow would beat 

him down ; 
It was nor smile of mirth, nor stni.,'t;ling prid.-^ 
That curbs to scorn tlie wrath it cannot hide; 
But that ol'one in his own heart secure 
Of ail that he would d<j or could enduie. 
Cculd this mean peace ? the calmneu of the 

good? 
Or guilt grown old in desperate hardihood .* 
Alas ! too like in confidence ai-e each. 
For man to trust to moital look or speech ; 
From deeds, and deeds alone, may he disrern 
Truths which it WTings the unpractised heart 

to learn. 



And Lara call d his page, and went his way — 
Well could Uiat stripling word or sign obey : 
His only follower Irom those climes afai, 
Where the soul glows beneath a brighter star; 
For Lara left the shore fi'om whence he spnnig, 
In duty patient, and sedate though young ; 
Silent as him he sen'ed, his faith appears 
Above his station, and beyond his years. 
Though not unknown the tongue of Lara'sland, 
In such from him he rarely heard commantl; 
But lle<?t his step, and clear his tones wonl I 
come, [home : 

When Lara's lip breathed forth the wonls xl 
Those accents, as his native mountains deiir, 
Awake their absent echoes in his ear. 



56 



LARA. 



Fneuds", kindreds', parents, wonted voice 

recall, 
Now lost, abjured, for one — his friend, his all : 
For him eaa-th now disclosed no other guide; 
What marvel then he rai-eJy left his side ? 

XXTI. 

Light was his form, and darkly delicate 
That brow whereon his native sun had sate. 
But hadnotman-'d,though inhisbeamshe grew, 
The cheek where oft the unbidden blush shone 

through ; [would show 

Yet not such blush as mounts when health 
All the heart's hue in that delighted glow ; 
But 't was a hectic tint of secret caae 
That for a burning moment fever'd there ; 
And the wild sparkle of his eve seem'd caught 
From high, and lighten'd with electric thought. 
Though its black orb those long low lashes' 

fringe 
Had tempcr'd with a melancholy tinge ; 
Yet less oi' sorrow than ol' pride was there, 
Or, if 't were giief, a grief tliat none should 

share : [agCf 

And pleased not him the sports that please his 
The tricks of youth, the frolics of the page ; 
For hours on Lara he Would fix his glance, 
As aU-ibrgotten in that watchful trance ; 
And from his chief withdi-awu, he wander 'd 

lone, 
Brief weie his answers, and his questions none ; 
His walk the wood, his sport some foreign book ; 
llisrestii;g-place the bank ihatcmbs the brook: 
He sccra'il, like him he served, to live apart 
From all that liu-es the eye, and tills tlie heart ; 
To know no brotherhood, and take Irom earth 
No gift beyond that bitter boon — our bii'th. 



If aught he loved, 'twas Lara ; but was showii 
Sis laith in reverence and in deeds alone ; 
Ifn mute attention ; and his care, which guess'd 
fiach wish, fulfill'd it ere tlie tongue express'^ 
Still tliere was haughtiness in all he did, 
A spirit deep that brook'd not to be chid ; 
His zeal, though more than that of servile hands. 
In act alone oljoys, his air commands; 
As if 't was Lara's less than his desire 
That thus he se^-ed, but surely not for hire. 
S'light were the tasks enjoin'd him by his lord, 
Tt» hold the stirrup, or 'o Vear the sword ; 
To tune his lute, or, if he %\ ill'd it more, 
On tomes of other times amV tongues to pore ; 
Bu'l ne'er to mingle with the menial train. 
To whom he show'd nor deference nor disdain, 



But that well-wom reserve which proved 1h 

knew 
No sj-mpathy with that familiar crew : 
His soul, whate'er his station or his stem; 
Could bow to Lara, not descend to them. 
Of higher buth he seem'd, and better days, 
Nor mai-k of vulgar toil tliat hand betrays, 
So femininely white it might bespeak 
Another sex, when match'd with that smoo^- 

cheek. 
But lor his garb, and something in his gaze. 
More wild and highthan woman's eye betrays; 
A latent fierceness that far more became 
His fiery climate than his lender frame : 
True, in his words it broke not from his breas^ 
But from his aspectmight be more than guess'd 
Kaled his name, though nunom said he bore 
Another ere he lett his momilain-shore ; 
For sometimes he would hear, however nigh, 
That name repeated loud without reply. 
As unfamiliar, or, if roused again. 
Start to the sound, as but remember'd thc!i ; 
Unless 't was Lara's wonted voice that spake. 
For then, eai-, eyes, and heart would all awaka 



XXVIIl. 

He had look'd dovm upon the festive haU, 
And mark'd that sudden strife so mark'd of allj 
And w hen the crowd aroimd and near him told 
Their wonder at the calmness of the bold, 
Tlieir marvel how the high-born Lara bore 
Such insult from a strang'-r, doubly sore, 
The colour ol' young Kaled went and came. 
The lip of ashes, and the cheek of {lame ; 
And o'er his brow the dampening heart-dropt 

threw 
The sickening iciness of that cold dew. 
That rises as the busy bosom sinks 
"With heavy thoughts from which refiectioD 

shrinks. [and dara, 

Yes — there be things which we must dreaa 
And execute ere thought be half avrave : 
WTiate'er might Kalrd's be, it was enow 
To seal his lip, but agonise his brow. 
He gazed on Ezzelin till Lara cast 
That sidelong smile upon the knight he pasP. 
When Kaled saw that smile his visage lell. 
As if on something recognised right well: 
His memory read in such a metming more 
llian Lara's aspect mito others wore : 
Foi-ward he sprung — amoment,b()lh weregoit^ 
And all within that hall seem'd left a one ; 
Each had so lix'd his eye on Lara's mien. 
All had so mix'd their tedings witfi thaU 



LAKa. 



51 



"ITiat when hia long dark shadow through the 

porch 
No more relieves the glare of yon high torch, 
Each pulse beats quicker, and all bosomsseem 
To bound as doubting from too black a dream, 
*ui:h as we know is false, yet dread in sooth, 
Hecause the worst is ever nearest truth, 
.^nd they are gone — but Ezzelin is tliere, 
Wiih uhoughttui nsage and imperious air; 
Rul l^ng remain'd not ; ere an hour expired 
Il« t\aved his hand to Otho, and retired. 

XXIX. 

The crowd are gone, the revellers at rest ; 
The courteous host, and all-approving guest, 
Again to that accustom 'd couch must creep 
Where joy subsides, and sori'ow sighs to sleep. 
And man, o'erlaboiu-'d witl. his being's strite. 
Shrinks to thai sweet forgeU'ulness of life : 
Tiere lies love's feverish Lope, and cunning's 

guile, 
Hale's working brain, and lull'd ambition's wile; 
O'er each vain eye oblivion's pinions wave. 
And quench'd existence crouches in a gi"ave. 
Wbat better name mi'y slumber's bed become? 
Night's sepulchre the luiiversal heme. 
Where weakness, strength, vice, virtue, sunk 

supine, 
Alike in naked helplessness recline ; 
Glad for awhile to heave unconscious breath, 
Yet wake to wTestle with the dread of death, 
And shun, though day but dawn on ills in- 
creased, [least. 
That sleep, the loveliest, since it dreams the 



CANTO THE SECOND. 



NiOHT wanes — the vapours round the moun- 
tains curl'd 
Mcit inlo nioni, and Light awakes* the world. 
Man has nnolher day to swell the past. 
And lead him near to little, but his last ; 
But mighty Nature bounds as from her birth. 
The sim is in the heavens, and life on earth; 
Flowers in the -valley, splendour in the beam, 
Health on the gale, and freshness in the stream, 
immortal man ! bcholri her glories shine, 
knd cry, exulting inly, " They are thine !" 



Gaze on, while yet A, gladden'deyemay see*, 
A mon-ow comes when v'lcy are net for thee • 
And grieve what may above thy senseless biei; 
Nor earth nor sky will 5'ield a single tear ; 
Nor cloud shall galiier more, nor leaf shall fall, 
Nor gale breathe Ibrth one sigh forthe<j, for all, 
1-iul creeping things shali revel in their spcU, 
And fit thy clay to ferviise the soil. 



Tis mom— 'tis noon — assembled in the ba}l. 

The gather'd chieftains come to Otho's caii; 

T is now the promised hour, that must pro- 
claim 

The life or death of Lara's future fame; 

"\\'!\cn Ezzelin his charge may here unfold, 

And whatsoe'er the t:ili% it must be told. 

His faith was pledged, and Lara s proutisi 
given. 

To meet it in the eye of man and heaven. 

W'hy comes he not? Such truths to be di vulge4 

!Methinks the accuser's rest is long indulged. 



The hour is past, and Lara too is there, 
With sclf-conndlng, coldly patient air ; 
Why comes not EzzeHn ? The hour is past. 
And muiTnm's rise, and Otbo's brow'so'ercast 
" I know my friend! his faith I cannot fear, 
If yet he be on earth, expect him here ; 
The roof that held him in the valley stands 
15etween my own and noble Lara's kuitls; 
My halls from such a guest had honour gain'd 
Nor had Sir Ezzelin his host disdain'd. 
But that some previous proof forbade his sta) 
And urged him to prepare against to-day; 
The word I pledged for his 1 jiledge again, 
Or will myself redeem his kn:'ghthood's stain." 

He ceased — and Lara answer'd, " I am beta 
To lend at thy d-jniand a li.stening car 
To tales of evil from a sinuiger s tongue. 
Wliose words already might my he^xt hai, 

wn:ng, 
But that I de.rn'd him scarcely less Jian mad 
Or, at the wo st, a foe ignobly bad. 
I know him not — but me it seems he knew 
In lands where — but I mu.st not trille too : 
Produce this baboier — or redeem the pledge; 
Here in thy hold, and with thy falchion's edge.' 

Proud Otho on the inslant, reddening, threw 
His glove on earth, and forth his sabre riew. 
" The last alternative befits me best. 
And thus I answer for mine absent g;ies»< 



58 



LARA. 



With cheek unchan^ng from its sallow gloom, 
However near his own or other's tomb ; 
With hand, whose almost careless coolness 

spoke 
Its grasp well-used to deal the sabre-strol;e ; 
With eye, though calm, detenuined not to spare, 
Did Lara too his willing weapon bare. 
2n vain the circling chieftains round them 

closed, 
Foi Otho's frenzy would not be opposed ; 
And from his lip those words of insult fell— 
His sword is good who can maintain them well. 



Short was the conflict ; furious, blindly rash, 
Vain Otho gave his bosom to the gash : 
He bled, and fell; but not with deadly wound, 
Stretch'd by a dextrous sleight along the gi-ound. 
" Demand thy life I " He answer'd not: and 

then 
From that red floor he ne'er had risen again. 
For Larn's brow upon the moment grew 
Almost to Mackness in its demon hue ; 
And fiercer shook his angry falchion now 
Than -cl.cn his foe's was levell'd at his brow; 
Then all was stem collectedness and art, 
Now rose the unleaven'd hatred of his heart; 
So little sparing to the foe he fell'd, 
That when the approaching crowd his arm 

withheld, 
He almost tum'd the thirsty point on those, 
Who thus for mercy dared to int'"7»ose ; 
But to a moment's thought that pui-pose bent; 
Yet look'd he on him still with eye intent, 
As if he loathcil the ineii'ectual stiife 
That left a foe, howe'er o'erthrown, with life; 
As if to search how far the wound he gave 
Had sent its victim onward to his grave. 



They raised the bleeding Otho, and the Leech 
Forbade all present question, sign, and speech; 
The others met within a neighbouring hall, 
And he, incensed, and heedless of them all. 
The cause and conqueror in this sudden fray, 
In haughty silence slowly strode away ; 
He back'd his steed, his homeward path he took, 
Kor cast on Otho's towers a single look. 



But where was he? that meteor of a night, 
WTio menaced but to disappear with light. 
Where was this Ezzelin? who came ami went 
To leave no otlier trace of his intent. 
He left the dome of Otho long ere mom, 
In darkness, vet so well the oath was worn 



He co\ild not miss it: near his dwelling lay | 

But there he was not, and with cimiing day 
Came fast inquiry, which unfolded nought 
Except the absence of the chief it sought. 
A chamber tenantless, a steed at rest, 
His host alann'd, his murmuring squires dis 

tress'd: 
Their search extends along, around the ptith* 
In di"ead to meet the marks of prowlers' wratJ> 
But none are there, and not a brake hath born 
Nor gout of blood, nor shreil of mantle torn; 
Nor fall nor struggle hath ilefaced the grass, 
Which still retains a mark where murder vas; 
Nor dabliling fingers left to tell the tale, 
The bitter print of each convulsive nail. 
When agonised hands that cease to guard, 
Wound in tliat pang the smoothness of the 

sward. 
Some such had been, if here a !'fe wka reft. 
But these were not; and doubting hope i* 

left ; 
And strange suspicion, whispering Lara's nanie, 
Now daily mutters o'er his blacken'd fame; 
Then sudden silent when his" form appe.u-'d. 
Awaits the absence of the thing it fear'd 
Again its wonted wondering to renew, 
And dye conjecture witli a dai-ker hue. 



Days roll along, and Otho's wounds are heal'd, 
But not his pride ; and hate nomoreconceal'd: 
He was a man of power, and Lara's foe. 
The friend of all who sought to work him woe^ 
And from his country's justice now demands 
Account of Ezzelin at Lai'a's hands. 
Who else than Lara could have cause to fear 
His ]>reseiice? who had ma<le him disappear. 
If not the man on whom his menaced charge 
Had saie too deeply were he left at largs? 
The general rumour ignorantly loud, 
The mystery dearest to the curious crowc ; 
The seeming friendlessness of him who stiuWi 
To win no coiutdence, and wake no love ; 
The sweeping fiercenesswhich his soul belrav'd, 
The skill with which he wielded his keen bhuis; 
Where had his ann unwarlike caught that ait? 
WI ere had ihatfierceness grown upon his beard 
Fo/ it was not the blind capricious rage 
A word can kindle and a word assuage ; 
But the deep working of a soul unmix'd 
With aught of pity where its wrath had fix'd; 
Such as long power and overgorged success 
Concentrates into all that's mercilesi». 
These, link'd with that desire \\'hich ever swayi 
Mankind the rattier tn cmdemn than praisa. 



LARA. 



59 



Oainst Lara galheruig t dised at length a storm, 
Suc-h as himself might fe;iT, uud foes would form, 
Aud he must answer for the absent head 
Of one that haunts k;m otiil, alive or dead 



Within rhat land was many a malcontent. 
Who cursed the tyranny to which he bent ; 
ini;»i soil full many a wringing ilespot saw, 
Whi> work'd his wantonness in form of law ; 
lonj war without and frequent broil witliin 
Had tuade a path for blood and giant sin, 
That vaited but a signal to begin 
New havoc, such as civil discord blends, 
\Vhi< a knows no neuter.ownsbut foes or friends; 
Fix'd in his feudal fortress each was loi-d, 
In w«/rd and deed obey'd, in soul abhorr'd. 
Thus Lara had inherited his lands. 
And with them pining hearts and sluggish 

hands ; 
feut that long absence from his native clime 
Had left him stainless of oppression's crime, 
A.nd now, diverted by his milder sway. 
Ml dread by slow degi'oes had worn away. 
The menials felt tlicir usual awe alone. 
But more for him than them that fear was grown; 
They deera'd him now unhappy, though at first 
Their evil judgment augur'd of the worst, 
And each long restless night, and silent mood, 
Was traced to sickness, fed by solitude : 
^nd though his lonely habits threw of late 
Gloom o'er his chamber, cheerful was his gate; 
For thence the wretched ne'er unsoothed with- 
drew, 
For them, at least, his soul compassion knew. 
Cold to the great, contemptuous to the high. 
The humble pass'd not his unheeding eye ; 
Much he would speak not, but beneath his roof 
Tliey found asylum oft, and ne'er reproof. 
And they who watchd might mark that, day 

by day, 
ft >me new retainers gather'd to his sway ; 
But most of late, since Ezzelin was lost, 
He play'd the courteous lord and bounteous host 
Perchance his strife with Otho made him dread 
Some snare prepared for his obnoxious head; 
Whate'er his view, his favour more obtains 
With these, the people, than his fellow thanes. 
If this were poUcy, so far 'twas sound, 
T le million judged but of him as they found ; 
F/oni him by sterner chiefs to exile driven 
They but required a shelter, and 'twas civen 
By him no peasant mourn'd his nfled cot. 
And scarce the Serf could murmur o'er his lot; 
Willi him old avarice found its hoard secure. 
With hin contempt forbore to mock the poor ; 



Youth, present cheer and promised recomp'^nc* 
Detain d, till all too late to part from thence : 
To hate he offer'd, with the coming change, 
The deep reversion of delay'd revenge; 
To love, long baffled by tie unequal match, 
The well-won charms success was sure to sn atch 
All now was ripe, he waits but to proclaim 
That slavery nothing which was still a rianw. 
The moment came, the hour when Otho lb mght 
Secure at last the vengeance which he sought. 
His summons found the destined criminal 
Begirt by thousands in his swanning h;dt, 
Fresh from their feudal fetters newly riven, 
Defying earth, and confidoit of heaven. 
That morning he had freed tlie soil-bound s!avt.« 
Who dig no land for tyrants but their graves. 
Such is their cry — some watchword for the fight 
Must vindicate the wrong, and warp the right: 
Religion — freedom— vengeance — what vou 

will, 
A word 's enough to raise mankind to kill; 
Some factious phrase by cunning caught and 

spread, [be fed I 

That guilt may reign, and wolves and worms 



Throughout that clime the feudal chiefs Had 

gain'd 
Such sway, their infant monarch hardly reign'd; 
Now was the hour for faction's rebel growth. 
The Serl's contemn'd the one, and hated both ■ 
They waited but a leader, and they found 
One to their cause inseparably bound ; 
By circumstance compell'd to plunge again. 
In self-defence, amidst the strife of men. 
Cut olFby some mysterious fate from those 
Whom birth and nature meant not for his foes, 
Had Lara from that night, to him accurst. 
Prepared to meet, but not alone, the worst: 
Some reason ui-ged, whate'er it was, to shun 
Inquiry into deeds at distance done ; 
By mingling with his own Uie cause of all, 
Een if he fail'd, he still delay'd his fail 
The sullen calm that long his bosom kept, 
The otonn that once had spent itself and slep^ 
Roused by events that seem'd foiedoom'd to 

urge 
His gloomy fortunes to their utmost verge, 
Burst forth, and made him all he once had been. 
And is again ; he only changed the scene. 
Light care had he for life, and less for fame, 
But not less fitted for the desperate game. 
He deem'd himself mark 'd out for others hate 
And mock'd at ruin so they shared his f&e. 
What eared he for the freedom of the crowd 
He x'aisetl the humble 'jut to bend the pvoud 



60 



LARA. 



He had hoped qtiiet in his sullen Inir, 
But man and destiny beset him there : 
Inured to hunters, he was found at bay; 
And they must kill, theycannnt snare the prey. 
Stem, unambitious, silent, he had been 
Hcncelbith u culm spectator of life's scene; 
Dut dragg'd again upon the arena, stood 
A leader not unequal 'o the feud; [spoke, 

lij voice — mien — gesture — savage natme 
And from his eye the gladiator broke. 



Wh It boots the oft-repeated tale of strife, 
The feast of vultures, and the waste of life ? 
The varying foitune of each sepai-ate field, 
The fierce that vanquish, and the faint that yield? 
The smoking ruin, and tlie ci-umbled wall? 
In this the struggle was the same with all ; 
Save that distempcr'd passions lent their force 
[n bitterness that banish'd all remorse. 
None sued, for Mercy knew her cry was vain, 
The captive died upon the battle-slain: 
In either cause, one rage alone possess'd 
The empire of the alternate victor's breast ; 
And they that smote for freedom or for sway, 
Deem'd few Avere slain, while more remain'd 

to filaj. 
It was too late to check the wasting brand, 
And Desolation reau'd rla" famish 'd Innd ; 
The torch was lighted. .•<»(* she flame was spread, 
4nd Carnage smilea upon ner daily dead. 



But more prefen-'d the fury of the Etrifc, 
And present death, to hourly suffering life 
And i'amine wrings, and fever sweeps awaj 
His numbers melting last from their array; 
Intemperate triumph fades to discontent. 
And Lara's soul aione seems still unbent: 
But few remain to aid his voice and hana, 
And thousands dwindled to a scanty band : 
Desperate, though few, the last and bcstremain 
To mourn the discipline they late disdain'd. 
One hope sur\'ives, the Iroiitier is not far. 
And thence they may escape from native war 
And bear within them to the neighbouring staU 
An exile's soitows, or an outlaw's hate: 
Hard is the task their lather-land to quit, 
But harder still to perish or submit. 



It is resolved — they march — consenting NigH 
Guides with ner stai- their dim and torchlesi 

flight: 
Alieady they perceive its tranquil beam 
Sleep on the surface of the ban-ier stream; 
-\lready they desciy — Is yon the bank? 
Away! 'tis lined with majiy a hostile rank. 
Return or fly! — What glitters in the rear? 
*T is Otho's banner — the pursuer's spear ! 
Are tnose tnc shepherds' fires upon the height 
Alas I they blaze too widely for the flight : 
Cut off from hope, and compass'd in the toil. 
Less blood perchance hath bought a richer spoi/ 



P\ esh with the nerve the n3w-bom impulse 

stnnig, 
The first success to liara's numbers clung : 
But that vain victory hath ruin'd all; 
They foini no longer to their leader's call: 
n blind confusion on the Ibe they press, 
nd think to snatch is to secure success. 
The lust of booty, and the thirst of hate, 
Luie on the broken brigands to their fate : 
In vain he doth whate'er a chief xoay do. 
To check the headlong fury '►''♦hat crew; 
In vain their stubborn ardour he would tame, 
Tlie hand that kindles cannot quench the flame; 
The Tary Ibe alone hath turn'd their mood, 
And shown their rashness to that en-ing brood : 
The feign'd retreat, the nightly ambuscade. 
The daily harass, and the fight delay'd, 
I'h^ long pj-ivation of the hoped supply. 
Tie ccntless Tcn beneath the humid sky, 
The stubborn wall that mocks the leaguer's art, 
An.l palls the p:!-ticnce of liis baffled heart, 
Of these thev had not dctm'd: tlie battle^lav 
j'hcy coald cncour.tcr as a ct,e:an may ; 



A moment's pause — 'tis but to breathe tleii 

band. 
Or shall they onward press, or here withstand ? 
It matters little — if they charge the foes 
Whoby theirborder-stream their march oppose- 
Some few, perchance, may break and pass th« 

line. 
However link'd to bafile such design. 
" The chaige be ours ! to wait for their assaul 
Were fate well worthy of a coward's halt." 
Forth flies each sabre, rein'd is eveiy ste*«i, 
And the next word shall scarce outstrip the Oced 
lu the next tone of Lara's gathering breath ,.' 
How many shall but hear the voice of d-^u:^ t 



His blade is bared, — in uim there is an air 
As deep, but far too tranquil for despair; 
A something of indifference mr»re than then 
Becomes the bravest, i|"they feel for men. 
He tnrn'd liis rvc on K.;ded. ever near. 
Ana still tin) I'ailh.ul vo beir»y one fear; 



LARA. 



61 



Ptrchance 'twas but the moon's aim twilight 

threw 
Along his aspect an unwonted hue 
Ol'uiouml'ul paleness, whose dceji tint express'd 
Vhe iriith, an-i not the tenor of his brea.st. 
!'his Lura uiaik'd, ai;d laid his hand on his: 
It I'f.mbled not in saeh an hour as this; 
/lis lip was silent, scarcely beat his heart, 
His eye alone proclaim'd, "We will not part! 
f hy bund may perish, or thy I'riends may flee, 
^'ar .-well to lil'e, but not adieu to thee 1" 

11.0 word hath pass'd his lips, and onward 
driven, [riven ; 

Potu-s the link'd band through ranks asunder 
Well has each steed obey'd the armed heel, 
Aiul flash the scimitai's, and rings the steel ; 
Outnumber 'd, not outbraved, they still oppose 
Derpair to daring, and a Iront to Ibes ; 
And blood is mingled with the dashing stream, 
Which runs all redly tiU the morning beam. 



The war-horse maste-less is on the earth, 
And that last gasp hath burst his bloody giith; 
And near, yet quivernig witli Avhat life re. 

main'd, frein'ri ; 

The heel that urged him and the hand thai 
And some too near that rolling torrent lie, 
Whose waters mock the lip ol those that die ; 
That panting thirst which scorches in the breata 
Of those that die tlie soldier's fieiy death. 
In vain impels the binning mouth to crave 
One cb-op — the last — to cool it lor the grave ; 
With feeble a:id convulsive effort swept, 
Their limbs alongthecrimson'd turf have crept; 
The faint remains of life such struggles waste, 
But yet they reach the sti'eam, and bend t» 

tasie : 
They feel its freshness, and almost partake- 
Why pause? No fuither tliirst have they K 

slake — 
It is unquench'd, and yet they feel it not' 
It was an agony — but now forgot ! 



Tommanding, aiding, animating all. 
Where Ibe appeai-'d to j^ress, or friend to fall, 
CheeisLara's voice,and waves or strikes hissteel, 
Inspiring hope himself had ceased to feel. 
None fled, for well they knew that flight were 

vain ; 
Uut those that waver tuni to smite again, 
While yet they find the finnest of the loe 
Recoil belbre their leader's look and blow : 
Now girt with numbers, now almost uloiie. 
He foils their ranks, or re-unites his own ; 
Himself he spared not — once they seem'd to 

fly— 
Kow was the time, he waved his hand on high, 
^nd shook — Why sudden droops that plumed 

crest ? 
The shaft is sped — the aiTow's in his breast! 
That lalal gesture, le.t the unguarded side, 
^ nd Death hath stricken down yon aim of pride. 
The word of triumph fainted from his tongue; 
That hand, so raised, how droopingly ithung! 
But yet the sword instinctively retains. 
Though from its i'ellow shriiik the falling reins ; 
These Kaled snatches: dizzy with the blow, 
And senseless bending o'er his saddle-bow. 
Perceives not Lara that his anxious page 
Beguiles his charger I'rom the combat's rage : 
Meantime his followers charge, and charge 

again ; 
Too raix'd the slayers now to heed the slain I 

XVI. 

Day glimmers on the dying and the dead, 
The cloven cuirass and the helniless head ; 



Beneath a lime, remoter from the scene. 
Where but for him that strife had never been, 
A breathing but devoted warrior lay : 
T was Lara bleeding fast from life away. 
His follower once, and now his only guide, 
Kneels Kaled watchful o'er his welling sitle, 
And with his scarf would stiUich the tides thai 

rush. 
With each convulsion, in a blacker gush; 
And then, as his faint breathing waxes low, 
In feebler, not less fatal tricklings flow : 
He scarce can speak, but motions him 'tis rain, 
And merely adds another throb to pain. 
He clasps the hand tliat pang which woula 

assuage. 
And sadiy smiles his thanks to that daik page, 
Who nothing fears, nor feels, nor heeds, noi 

sees, [ knees; 

Save tliat damp brow which rests upon hia 
Siivc thai pale as])ect, where the eye, though dim. 
Held all the light that shone on eartli for him. 

XVIII. 

The foe airives, who long had search'd the field. 
Their triumph nought till I>ara too shoulc 
yield [vain 

They would remove him, but they see 'l s\ er« 
And he regards them ^^■ith a calm disdain, 
That rose to reconcile him with \n^ \\\'>e. 
And that escape to death from living hate : 
And Otho comes, and leaping from his steed. 
Looks on tlie bleeding ibe that made him bleed" 
And questions of his state he answers iiut 
Scarce glances on him as on one ujrgoi. 



62 



LARA. 



And tiims to Kaled : — each remaining word 
They understood not, if distinctly heard ; 
His'djang tones are in that other tongue, 
To which some strange remembrance wildly 

clung. 
They spake of other scenes, but what — is known 
To kaled, whom their meaning reach'd alone; 
And he replied, though faintly, to their sound, 
While gazed the rest in dumb amazement 

round : [last 

They seem'd even then— that twain unto — the 
T ■) half forget the present in the past ; 
I share between themselves some separate 

fete, 
WTiose dai'kness none beside should penetrate. 



Their words though faint were many — from 

the tone 
Their import those whoheard could uidge alone; 
From this, you might have deem'd young 

Kaled's death 
More near than Lara's by his voice and breath. 
So sad, so deep, and hesitating broke 
The accents his scarce-moving pale lips spoke ; 
But Lara's voice, though low, at first was clear 
And calm, till muimuring death gasp'd hoarsely 

near: 
But from his visage little could we guess, 
So unrepentant, dark, anc? passionless, 
Save that when struggling nearer to his last. 
Upon that page his eye was kindly cast ; 
And once, as Kaled's answering accents ceased, 
Uose Lara's hand, and pointed to the East : 
Whether (as then the breaking sun from high 
Roll'd back the clouds) the morrow caughthis 

eye, [scone. 

Or that 't was chance, or some reraember'd 
That raised his arm to point where such had 

been. 
Scarce Kaled seem'd to know, but tuni'd away, 
As if his heart abhorr'd that coming day. 
And shrunk his glance before that morning 

light, 
To look on Lara's brow — ^where all grew night. 
Tct sense seem'd left, though better were its 

loss ; 
Foi when one near display'd the absolving cross, 
And proffer'd to his touch the holy bead. 
Of which his parl'ng soul might own the need, 
Jie look'd upon it "dth an eye profane. 
And smiled — Heavt i pai-don ! if 't were with 

disdain : 
AnA Kaled, though he spoke not, nor withdrew 
From Lara's face his fix'd despairing view, 



With brow repulsive, and with gesture swift, 
Flung back the hand which held the sacred gift 
As if such but disturb'd the expiring man. 
Nor seem'd to know his life but then began. 
That life of Irrunortality, secm-e 
To none, save them whose faith in Christ ii 



But gasping heaved the breath that Lara drew 
And dull the film along his dnn eye grew , 
His limbs stretcli'd fluttering, and his )i>M 

droop'd o'er 
The weak yet still untiring knee that bore ; 
He press'd the hand he held upon his heart- 
It beats no more, but Kaled will not part 
With the cold grasp, but feels, and feeh in vain 
For that faint throb whi ch answers not again. 
" It beats ! " — Away, thou dreamer ! he is 

g.one — 
It once was Lara which thou look'^t upon. 

XXI. 

He gazed, as if not yet had pass'd a^\t\y 
The haughty spirit of that humble claj ; 
And those around have roused him fn>m hra 

trance. 
But cannot tear from thence his fixed gl;>nce 
And when, in raising him from where he hovn 
Within his arms the fonn that felt no more, 
He saw the head his breast would still sustain 
Roll do\\Ti like eaith to earth upon the plain ; 
He did not dash himself thereby, nor tear 
The glossy tendrils of his raven hair, 
But strove to stand and gaze, but reel'd and 

fell, [well 

Scarce breathing more than that he loved so 
Than that he loved ! Oh ! never yet beneath 
The breastofmau such ti-usty love may breathe 
That trying moment hath at once reveal'd 
The secret long and yet but half conceal'd ; 
In bai'ing to revive that lifeless bi-^ast, 
Its grief seem'd ended, but the sex confess'd; 
And life return'd, and Kaled felt no shame — 
What now to her was Womanhood or Fame? 

XXII. 

And Lara sleeps not where his fathers sleep, 
But where he died i is giavc was dug as deep, 
Nor is his mortal slumber less profound, 
Though priest nor bless'd, nor marble deck'd 

the moimd ; 
And he was momn'd by one wh(/se quiet grief 
Less loud, outlasts a people's for their chief 
Vain was all question ask'd her nf the past. 
And vain e'en menace — silent to the last ; 



LARA. 



63 



Slic U)K1 nor whence, nor why she left behma 
Her all for one who seeni'd but .little kind. 
Why (lidshelovehini? Curious fool ! — be still — 
Is human love the growth of hiunan will? 
To her he might be gentleness ; the stem 
Ha7e deeper thoughts than your dull eyes dis- 
cern, 
And when tliey love, your smilers guess not how 
Beats tlie strong heart,though less the lips avo^«■. 
They were not conunon links, that foim'd the 

chain 
That bound to Lara Kaled's heart and brain ; 
But that wild tale she brook'd not to unlbld, 
Aiid seal'd is now each lip that could have told. 

xxni. 
They laid him in the earth, and on his breast, 
Besides the wound that sent his soul to rest, 
They found the scatter'd dints of many a scar, 
\Miich were not planted there in recent war ; 
Where'er had pass'd his summer years of life. 
It seems they vanish'd in a land of strife ; 
But all unknown his glory or his guilt. 
These only told that somewhere blood was spilt, 
.\nd Ezzelin, who might have spoke the past, 
Retum'dno more-^that night appeai-'d his last 

XX rv. 

Ppon that night (a peasant's is the tale) 
A Serf that cross'd the intervening vale. 
When Cynthia's light almost gave way to mom. 
And nearly veil'd in mist her waning horn; 
A Serf, that rose betimes to thread the wood, 
And hew the bough that bought his children's 

food, 
Pass'd by the river that divides the plain 
Of Otho's lands and Lara's biioad domain : 
He heard a tramp — a horse and horseman broke 
From out the wood — before him was a cloak 
Wrapt round some burthen at his saddle-bow, 
Bent was his head, and hidden was his brow. 
Roused by the sudden sight at such a time. 
And some foreboding that it might be crime. 
Himself unheeded watch'd the stranger's course. 
Who reachd the river, bounded from his horse, 
And lifting thence the burthen which he bore, 
Heaved up the bank, and dash'd it from the 

shore, [to watch, 

rhcnpaused,and look'd, and timi'd, and seem'd 
And still another hurried glance would snatch, 
And follow with his step the stream that flow'd, 
As if even yet too much its surface show'd : 
At once he started, stoop'd, around him strown 
The winter floods had scatter'd heaps of stone ; 
Of these ihe heaviest thence he g"'er'd there 
And slung them «'ib a more than common oa>«. 



Meantime the Serf had crept to where unscel 
Himself might safely mark what this migh 

mean; 
He caught a glimpse, as of a floating breast, 
And something glitter'd starlike on the vest ; 
But ere he well could mark the buoyant trunk 
A massy fragment smote it, and it sunk : 
It rose again, hvl indistinct to view, 
And left the waters of a purple hue, 
Then deeply disappear'd : the horseman gazec 
Till ebb'd the latest eddy it had raised ; 
Then turning, vaulted* on his pawing steed, 
And instant spurr'd him into panting speed. 
His face was mask'd — the features of the dead 
If dead it were, escaped the observer's dread 
But if in sooth a stai" its bosom bore, 
Such is the badge that knighthood ever wore. 
And such 'tis known Sir Ezzelin had worn 
Upon the night that led to such a mom. 
If thus he perish'd. Heaven receive his soul ! 
His undiscover'd limbs to ocean roll ; 
And charity upon the hope would dwell 
It was not Lara's hand by which he fell. 



And Kaled— Lara — Ezzelin, are gone. 
Alike without their monumental stone ! 
The first, all efforts vainly strove to wean 
From lingering where her chieftain's blood hai* 

been; 
Grief had so tamed a spirit once too proud. 
Her tears were few, her wailing never loucl; 
But furious would you tear her from the spot 
Where yet she scaixe believed that he was not 
Her eye shot forth with all the living fire 
That haunts the tigress in her whelpless ire; 
But left to waste her weary moments there. 
She talk'd all idly unto shapes of air, 
Such as the busy brain of Sorrow paints, 
And woos to listen to her fond complaints : 
And she would sit beneath the very tree 
Where lay his drooping head upon her kneej 
And in that posture where she saw him fall. 
His words, his looks, his dying grasp recall; 
And she had shorn, but saved her raven haiT; 
.4nd oft would snatch it from her bosom there 
And fold, and press it gently to the ground, 
As if she stanch'd anew some phantom's wound 
Herself would question, and for him reply; 
Then rising, start, and beckon him to fly 
From some imagined spectre in pursuit ; 
Thf^n seat her down upon some linden's root 
An I hide her visage with her meagre hand. 
Or trace strange characters along the sand— 
This could not last — she lies by him she loved*, 
Hc-r tale untold — her truth too dearly proTedt 



Cf)e Mm of €ovinl^. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 

The gi-and aiTay of the Turks (in 1715), luider 
he Prime Vizier, to open to themselves a way 
into the heart of the Morea, and to form the 
siege of Napoli di Romania, the most consi- 
derable place in all that conntryi, tliought it 
oest in the first place to attULk Corinth, upon 
which they made several blonns. The garrison 
Deing weakened, and the governor seeing it 
was impossible to hold out against so mighty 
a force, thought it fit to beat a parley : but 
while they were treating about the articles, one 
of the magazines in the Tiu-kish camp, wherein 
they had six hundred ban-els of powder, blew 
np by accident, whereby six or seven hundred 
men were killed ; which so enraged the infidels, 
that they would not gratit any capitidation, 
but stonned the place with so much fury, that 
they took it, and put most of thegarrison,with 
SignJor Minotti, the governor, to the sword. 
The rest, with Antonio Bcrabo, proveditor ex- 
traordinary, were made prisoners of war." — 
flittory of the Turks, vol.iii. p. 151. 



^5e Sbicge of (Bonnt]), 

\-s the year since Jesus died for men, 
Eighteen hundred years and ten 
'sVe were a gallant company. 
Riding o'er land, and sailing o'er sea 
Oh ! but we went men-ily ' 
We forded the river, and clomb the high AiU, 
Never our steeds for a day stood still ; 
Whether we lay in the cave or the shed, 
Otu- akcy fell soft on tlie hardest bed ; 



Whetlier we couch d in our rough capoJei 

On the rougher plank of om* gliiiing boat! 
Or stretch'd on the beach, or our saddl 

spread 
As a pillow beneath the resting head, 
Fresh we woke upon the moiTow : 

All our thoughts and words had scope. 

We had health, and we had hope, 
Toil and travel, but no sorrow. 
We were of all tongues and creeds ; — 
Some were those who counted be-iils. 
Some of mosque, and some of church, 

And some, or I mis-say, of neither; 
Yet. through the wide world might ye searoi 

Nor find a mother crew nor blither. 

But some are dead, and some are gone. 
And some are scatter'd and alone. 
And some are rebels on the hills 2 

That look along Epii-us' valleys, 

Where freedom still at moments ralUeft 
And ]>ays in blood oppression's ills ; 

And some are in a fai- couutree. 
And some all restlessly at home ; 

But never more, oh! never, we 
Shall meet to revel and to roam. 

But those hardy days flew cheerily, 

And when they now fall drearily. 

My thoughts, like swallows, skim the inak^ 

And bear my spirit back again 

Over the jearth, and through the air, 

A wild bird and a wanderer. 

"T is this that ever wakes my strain. 

And oft, too oft, implores agaiii 

The lew who may endure my l*y, 

To follow me so far away. 

Stranger — wilt thou follow me now, 

And sit with mt on Ai^ro Curi«illi'*i l>r»rt* 



THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 



65 



Many a vanish'd year and age, 
And tempest's breath, and battle's rage, 
Have swept o'er Corinth ; yet she stands, 
A ibrlress ibiin'd to Freedom's hands. 
The wliirlwind's wrath, the eaithquake'a 

;>ho(;k. 
Have left untouch'd her hoary rock, 
The keystone of a land, which still, 
Though lalFn, looks proudly on tliat hill, 
1 he laridniark to the double tide 
That purpling rolls on either side, 
As if tlieir waters chafed to meet, 
Yet pause and crouch beneath her feet. 
But could the blood belbre her shed 
Since first Tiuioleon's brotiier bled, 
Or baffled Persia's despot lied, 
Arise from out the earth which di'ank 
The stream of slaughter as it sank, 
That sanguine ocean would o'erflow 
Her isthmus idly spread' belo\\ : 
Or could the bones of all the slain. 
Who perish'd there, be piled again, 
That rival pyramid would rise 
More moimtain-like,through those clear skies. 
Than yon tower-capp'd Acropolis, 
Wliich seems the very clouds to kiss. 

II. 
On dun Cithaeron's ridge appears 
The gleam of twice ten thousand spears ; 
And downward to the Isthmian plain, 
From shore to shore of either main, 
The tent is pitch'd, the crescent shines 
Along the Moslem's leaguering lints ; 
And the dusk Spahi's bands 3 advance 
Beneath each bearded pacha's glance; 
And far and Avide as eye can reach 
The turban'd cohorts throng the beach ; 
And there the Arab's camel kneels, 
And there his steed the Tartar wheels ; 
The Turcoman hath left his herd, 4 
The sabre round his loins to gird ; 
And there the volleying thmiders pour, 
Till waves gi-ow smoother to the roar. 
The trench is dug, the cannon's breath 
W^igs the far hissing globe of death ; 
Fast whirl the fragments from the wall. 
Which crumbles with the ponderous ball ; 
And from that Avail the Ibe replies, 
O'er dusty plain and smoky skies, 
With fires that answer last and well 
The sunmions of the Infidel. 



But near and nearest to the wall 
Of those w'lo wish ;tnd work 'is fall, 



With deeper skill in war's black ait. 
Than Othnifm's sons, and high of heart 
As any chief that ever stood 
Triumphant in the fields of blood; 
From post to post, and deed to deed. 
Fast spurring on his reeking steed. 
Where sallying ranlcs the ti'ench assail, 
And make the Ibremost Moslem quail ; 
Or where the battery, guarded well. 
Remains as yet impregnable. 
Alighting cheerly to inspire 
The soldier slackening in his fire; 
The first and freshest of the host 
Which Stamboul's sultan thei'e can boaei. 
To guide tlie follower o'er the field, 
To point the tube, the lance to wield, 
Or whirl around the bickering blade ; — 
Was Alp, the Adrian renegade ! 



From Venice — once a race of worth 
His gentle sii-es — he di-ew his birth ; 
But late an exile from her shore, 
Against his countrymen he bore 
The anus ihey taught to bear ; and now 
The turban girt his shaven br()A\-. 
Through many a change had Corinth pass, «' 
With Greece to Venice' rule at last; 
And here, before her walls, with those 
To Greece and Venice equal foes, 
He stood a foe, with all the zeal 
"S^'hich young and fiery converts feel, 
"Within whose heated bosom throngs 
The memory of a thousand wrongs. 
To him had Venice ceased to be 
Her ancient civic boast — " the Free ; " 
And in the palace of St. Mark 
Unnamed accusers in the dark 
Within the " Lion's mouth" had placed 
A charge against him uneffaced : 
He fled in time, and saved his life, 
To waste his future years in strife, 
That taught his land" how gi-eat her loss 
In him who triumph'd o'er tlie Cross, 
'Gainst which he rear'd the Crescent hJgt^ 
And battled to avenge or die. 



Coumourgi 5 — he whose closing scene 
Adom'd the triumph of Eugene, 
When on Carle )witz' bloody plain, 
The last and mightiest of the slain, 
He sank, regretting not to die. 
But cursixl the Christian's victory— 
Coumourgi — can his glory cease, 
Tbw* latent oiwiqwvrcj' ->f Greece. 



GG 



THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 



Fill Christian hands »o Greece restore 
riie freedom Venice gave of yore ? 
A huncired years have roll'd away 
Since he relix'd the Moslem's sway, 
\iu\ now he led the Mussulman, 
And gave the guidtuice of the van 
T J Alp, w bo well repaid the trust 
^y cities levell'd with the dust ; 
ind proved, by many a deed uf deatb 
How firm his heart in novel faith. 



Tne walls grew weak ; and fast and hot 

Against them pour'd the ceaseless shot. 

With unabating lury sent 

From battery to battlement ; 

And thunder-like the pealing din 

Rose from each heated culverin : 

And here and there some crackling dome 

Was fired before the exploding bomb : 

And as the fabric sank beneath 

The shattering shell's volcanic breath, 

In red and wreathing columns flash'd 

The flame, as loud the ruin crash'd. 

Or into countless meteors (hiven, 

Its earth-stars melted into heaven ; 

Whose clouds that day giew doubly dun, 

Impervious to the hidden sun, 

With volumed smoke that slowly grew 

To one wide sky of sulphurous hue. 



But not for vengeance, long delay "a. 

Alone, did Alp, the renegade, 

The Moslem warriors sternly teach 

His skill to pierce the promised breach : 

Will) in these walls a maid was pent 

riis hope would win, without consent 

Of that inexorable sire, 

'\\niose heart refused him in its ire, 

When Alp, beneath his Christian name, 

Her virgin hand aspii-cd to claim. 

Ill happier mood and earlier time, 

While unimpeach'd for traitorous crime. 

Gayest in gondola or hall. 

He glitter'd through the Carnival ; 

And tuned the softest serenade 

That e'er on Adria's waters play'd 

At midnight to Italian nftiid. 



And many deem'd her heart was won ; 
l-'cr sought by numbers, given to none, 
Had young Francesca's hand remain d 
Still by the church's bouu unchain 'd. 



And when the Adi-iaiic bote 
Lanciotto to tlie Paynim shore. 
Her wonted smiles were seen to fedi. 
And pensive wax'd the maid and paie; 
More constant at confessional, 
More rare at masque and festival; 
Or seen at such, willi downcast eyes, 
Which conquer'd heaits they ceased to i)r5.3<f 
With listless look she seems to gaze; 
With humbler cai-e her form arrays; 
Her voice less lively in the song; 
Her step, tliough light, less fleet among 
The pairs, on whom the Mining's glance 
Breaks, yet unsated with the dance. 



Sent by the state to guard the land, 
(Which, wrested from the Moslem's hand. 
While Sobieski tamed his pride 
By Buda's wall and Danube's side, 
The chiefs of Ventce wrimg away 
From Patra to Eubwa's bay,) 
Minotti held in Corinth's towers 
The Doge's delegated powers. 
While yet the pitying eye of Peace 
Smiled o'er her long forgotten Greece 
And ere that faithless truce was broke 
Which freed her from the unchristian jtlce 
With him his gentle daughter came ; 
Nor there, since Menelaus' dame 
Forsook her lord and land, to prove 
What woes await on lawless love, 
Had faiier form adorn'd the shore 
Than she, the matchless sti-anger bore. 



The wall is rent, the ruins yawn ; 
And, with to-morrow's earliest dawn, 
O'er the disjointed mass shall vault 
The foremost of the fierce assault. 
The bands are rank'd; the chosen van 
Of Tartar and of Mussulman, 
The full of hope, misnamed " forlorn," 
Who hold the tlaought of death in scorn. 
And ^^^n their way ^th falchion's force, 
Or pave the path with many a corse, 
O'er which the following brave may rise, 
Their stepping-stone — the last who dies ! 



'Tis midnight: on the moimtains brcvn 
The cold, round moon shines deeply dow%; 
Blue roll the waters, blue the sky 
Spreads like an ocean hung on high, 
Bespangled with those isles of ligl't, 
So wildly, spiritually bright ; 



THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 



G7 



Who ever gazed upon them shining 

And tiim'd to earth without repining, 

Nor wish'd for wings to dee away, 

And mix with their eternal ray? 

The waves on either shore lay there 

Calm, clear, and azure as the air; 

And scai'ce their foam the pebbles shook, 

But mui-mur'd meekly as the brook. 

The winds were pillow'd on the waves; 

The banners droop'd along their sUives, 

And, as they fell ai'ound tliem furling, 

Above them shone the crescent cuihng; 

And tliat deep silence was unbroke, 

Save where the watch his signal spoke, 

Save where the steed neigh'd oft and shrill, 

And echo answer'd from the hill, 

And the wide hiun of that wdd host 

Rustled like leaves from coast to coast, 

As rose the Muezzin's voice in air 

In midnight call to wonted prayer ; 

It rose, that chanted mournful strain, 

Like some lone spirit's o'er the plain: 

'T was musical, but sadly sweet. 

Such as when winds and harp-strings meet. 

And tatce a long unmeasured tone. 

To mortal minstrelsy unknown. 

It seemd to tliose within the wall 

A cry prophetic ol" tlieir fall : 

It struck even the besieger's ear 

With something ominous and drear. 

An undefined and sudden thrill. 

Which makes the heart a moment still. 

Then beat with quicker pulse, ashamed 

Of that strange sense its silence framed ; 

Such as a sudden passing bell 

Wakes, though but for a stranger's knell. 



The tent of Alp was on the shore ; 

The sound was hush'd, the prayer was o'er; 

The watch was set, the night-round made, 

All mandates issued and obey'd : 

'TIS but anotlier anxious night, 

His pains the morrow may requite 

With all revenge and love can pay^ 

In guerdon for their long delay. 

Few hours remain, and he hath need 

Of rest, to nerve for many a deed 

Of slaughter: but within his soul 

The thoughts like troubled waters roll 

He stood alone among the host ; 

Not his the loud fanatic boast 

To plant the crescent o'er the cross. 

Or risk a life with little loss, 

Secure in paradise to be 

Dy Houris loved iiamoitally : 



Nor his, what burning patriots duA, 
The stern p.xaltedness of zeid. 
Profuse of blood, untired in toil, 
Wtwn battling on the parent soil 
He stood alone — a renegade 
Against the country he betray'd ; 
He stood alone amidst his band. 
Without a trusted heart or hand : 
They follow'd him, for he was brav%i. 
And great the spoil he got and gave ; 
They crouch'd to him, for he had skHI 
To wai"p and wield the vulgar will : 
But still his Cln-istian origin 
With them was little less than sin. 
They envied even the faithless fame 
He earn'd beneath a Moslem name , 
Since he, their mightiest chief, had been 
In youth a bitter Nazarene. 
They did not know how pride can stoop. 
When ballled feelings withering droop; 
They did not know how hate can bimi 
In hearts once changed from soft to stera , 
Nor all the false and fat.il zeal 
The convert of revenge car feci. 
He ruled them — m<ui m-i*. i:i^c tL?. \a orst. 
By ever daring to be first : 
So lions o'er tlie jackal sway; 
The jackal points, he fells the prcj-, 
Then on the vulgar yelling press, 
To gorge the relics of success. 



His head grows fever 'd, and his pulse 
The quick successive throbs convulse; 
In vain from side to side he throws 
His form, in courtship of repose; 
Or if he dozed, a sound, a start 
Awoke him with a sunken heart 
The turban on his hot brow press'd. 
The mail weigh'd lead-like on hislsieast, 
Though oft and long beneath its weight 
Upon his eyes had slumber sate. 
Without or couch or canopy, 
Except a rougher field and sky 
Than now might yield a warrior's bed. 
Than now along the heaven was spread. 
He could not rest, he could not sUiy 
Within hi.'i tent to wait for day, 
But walk'd him forth along th(! sand, 
Where thousand sleepers sti-ew'd the strand 
What pillow'd them? and why should he 
More wakeful than the hmnblest be? 
Since more their peril, worse their toll, 
And yet they fearless dream of spoil ; 
While he alone, where thousands pass'd 
A night of sleep, pcj-nbuncc theij Uat, 



^s 



THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 



In sickly vigi2 wandcrd on, 
And envied a^ he ga/ed upon. 



He felt his soul become more light 
Beneath the freshness of the night 
Cool WHS the silent sky, though cairn, 
^nd bathed his brow with airy baku : 
■Behind, the camp — l.efore him lay, 
In many a windmg creek and bay, 
Lepanio s gulf; and. on the brow 
Of Delphi's hill, unshtiken snow. 
High and eternal, such as shone 
liirough thousand summers brightly gone, 
Along ibe gulf, the mount, the clime ; 
It will not melt, like man, to time : 
Tyrant and slave are swept away, 
T.ess form'd to wear before the ray ; 
But that white veil, the lightest, frailest. 
Which on the mighty mount thou hailest. 
While tower and tree are torn and rent. 
Shines o'er its craggy battlement; 
In form a peak, in height a cloud, 
In texture like a hovering shroud, 
Thus high by parting Freedom spread. 
As from her fond abode she lied. 
And linger d on the spot, where long 
Her pruphet spirit spake in song. 
Ob ! still her step at moments faltei-s 
O'er wither 'd fields, and ruin'd altars, 
And fain w-ould wake, in souls too broken. 
By pointing to each glorious token: 
But vain her voice, till better days 
Dawn in those yet remember' d rays, 
"Which shone upon tlie Persian flying. 
And saw the Spartan smile in dying. 



Not mindless of these mighty times 
Was Alp, despite his flight and crimes ; 
And thj-ough this night, as on he wander d, 
And o'er the past and present ponder d, 
And thought upon the glorious dead 
Who there in better cause had bled. 
He felt how faint and feebly dim 
The fiune that could accrue to him. 
Who cheer'd the band, and waved the sword, 
A traitor in a turban'd horde; 
And led them to the lawless siege. 
Whose best success were sacrilege. 
Not so had those his fancy nimiber'd, 
The chiefs whose dust around him slumberd; 
Their phalanx ma; hall'd on tire plain, 
Whose bulwiirks w«re not tlien in vain. 
They fell devoted, jut no Vi"g i 
The very gale the) jamcs secir.'d sighing, , 



The waters munnur'd ( f tl en- name ; 
The woods were peopled with their fame; 
The silent pillar, lone and gi'oy. 
Claim d kindred with ilieir sacred clay; 
Their spirits WTapp'd the dusky mountain, 
Their memory spai'kled o'er the fountaia ; 
The meanest rill, the mightiest ri\er 
Roll'd mingling with their lame forever. 
Despite of every joke ^^he bears, 
That land is glory's still and theire ! 
'T is still a watch-word to the earth : 
\Mieu man would do a deed of worth 
He points to Greece, and tiu-ns to tread. 
So sanction'd, on the tjTant's head • 
He looks to her, and '-ushes on 
Where life is lost, or freedom won. 



Still by the shore Alp mutely mosed, 
And woo'd the freshness Night diti'uscd. 
There shruiks no ebb in that tideless se.% 
Which changeless rolls eternally ; 
So that wild3st of -waves, in their ancrieal 
mood, [rood; 

Scarce break on the bounds of the land for a 
And the jwwerless moon beholds them dow. 
Heedless if she come or go : 
Calm or high, in main or bay, 
On their course she hath no sway. 
The rock unworn its base doth bare. 
And looks o'er tlie sm"f, but it comes not there; 
And the fringe of tlie ;bam may be seen below, 
On tlic line that it left long ages ago • 
A smooth short space of yellow sand 
Between it and tie greener land. 

He wander'd on, along the beach, 
Till within the range of a carbine's reach 
Of the leaguer'd wall; but they saw him not. 
Or how could he 'scape from the hostile shot? 
Did ti'aitors hu-k in the Christians' hold? 
Were their hands growai stilf, or their hearts 

wax'd cold? 
I know not, in sooth ; but from yonder wall 
There fla^h'd no fire, and there hiss'd no ball, 
Tliough he stord beneath the bastion's frown, 
"I'hat tlank\l tl ■} sea-ward gate of tire town ; 
Though he heai-d the sound, and could almoiil 

tell 
The sullen words of the sentinel, 
As his measured step on the stone below 
Clank'd, as he paced it to and fro ; 
And he saw the lean dogs beneath the wall 
Hold o'er the dead their carnival. 
Gorging and gi'owling o'er carcass and limb* 
Thev were too busy to ba»'t ai Jtinj J 



THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 



69 



Ifiom a Tartar's skull they had stiinp'd the flesh. 
As ve peel the rtg wiien its fruit is iVosh ; 
Kn'd their while tusks cruuch'cl o'cv the whiter 

sku!l,'"J [edge grew dull, 

As it sli])p\i through their jaws, when their 
As tliey la/.lly miunbled the bouesof thedead, 
When they scnrce could rise from the sjjot 

where they fed ; 
So wjil had they broken a lingering fast 
W'.th those who had fallen for that night's re- 

l)ast. [sand, 

-A nd Alp knew, by the turbans that roll'd on the 
The loremost of these were the best of his band : 
Crimson and green were the shawls of their 

wear. 
And each scalp had a single long tuft of hair, ' 
All the rest was shaven and bare. 
The scalps were in the wild dog's maw, 
The hair was tangled round his jaw. 
But close by the shore, on the edge of the gulf. 
There sat a vultiu-e flapping a wolf. 
Who had stolen from the hills, but kept away, 
Scared by the dogs, from the human prey ; 
But he seized on his share of a steed that lay, 
Pick'd by the birds, on the sands of the bay. 



Alp tum'd him from the sickening sight : 
Neser had shaken his nerves in fight; 
But he better could brook to behold the dying, 
Deep in the tide of their warm blood lying, 
Scorch'd with the death-thii'st, andwTithingin 

vain, 
Tlian the perishing dead who are past all pain. 
There is something of pride in the perilous hoiu*, 
Whate'er be the shape in which death may 

lower ; 
For P'amc is there to sa}' who bleeds, 
And Honour's eye on daring deeds ! 
But when all is past, it is humbling to tread 
^'rv the weltering held of tlie tombless dead. 
And see womis of the earth, and fowls of the 

air, 
Beasts of the forest, all gathering there. 
All regarding man as their prey, 
All rejoicing in his decay. 

xviir. 
There is a temple in ruin stands, 
Fashion'd by lo)ig forgotten hands ; 
Two or three columns, and many a stone, 
Marble and granite, with giass o'orgi-own ! 
Out upon Time ! it will leave no more 
Of tlie things to eome than tlie things before ! 
Out upon Time ! who for ever will leave 
But enough of the past for the future to grieve 



O'er th;.t \vhich hatli bet and o'er ihzZ whicfc 

must be 
"What we liave seen, our sons shall s«« ; 
Remnants of things that have pass'd away, 
Fragments of stone. reai-"d by creatures of cla' 



He sate him down at a pillar's base, 

And pass'd his hand athwait his face; 

Like one in dreaiy musing mood. 

Declining was his attitude ; 

His head was drooping on his bi-east, 

Fever'd, throbbing, and opprcss'd : 

And o'er his brow, so downward bent. 

Oft his l^ating fingers went, 

Plurriedly, as you may see 

Your own run over the ivory key, 

Ere tlie measured tone is taken 

By the chords you would awalcen. 

There he sate all heavily, 

As he heard the night-wind sigh. 

Was it the wind through some holow ston«^ 

Send that soft and tender moan ? 

He lilted his head, and he look'd on the sea, 

But it was unrippled as glass may be ; 

He look'd on the long gi'ass — it waved nd 

a blade ; 
How was that gentle sound convey'd ? 
He look'd to the banners — each Hag lay still, 
So did the leaves on Cilhajron's hill, 
And he felt not a breath come over his cheekj 
What did that sudden sound bespeak ? 
He turn'd to the left — is he sure of sight ? 
There sate a lady, youthful and bright ! 



He started up with more of fear 

Than if an anued foe were near. 

" Gotl of my fathers I what is here? 

"Who ait thou, and wherelore sent 

So near a hostile armament? " 

His trembling hands refused to sigTi 

The cross he deem'd no more divine • 

He had resumed it in that hour, 

But conscience wrung away the power. 

He gazed, he saw : he luiew the face 

Of beauty, and the fonn of gi-ace ; 

It was Francesca by his side, 

The maid who might have been his bride ! 

The rose was yet upon her cheek, 
]?ut mellow'd with a tenderer streak: 
Where was the play of lier soft lips fled? 
Gone was the smile that enliven'd their red 
The ocean's calm within thy view, 
Beside her eye had less to blue : 



ro 



THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 



Bat like that cold wave it stood still, 

And its glance, though clear, was chill. 

Around her form a thin robe twining, 

Nought conceal'd her bosom shining ; 

Through the parting of her hair, 

Floating darkly downward there. 

Her roimdcd arm show'd white and bare : 

And eii /y. she made reply, 

One ,he raised her hand on high ; 

It was so wan, and transparent of hue, 

Y ou might have seen the moon shine through. 



» I come from my rest to him I love best, 
That I may be happy, and he ma\fche bless'd. 
I have pass'd the guarcts, the gate, the wall ; 
Sought thee in safety through foes and all. 
T is said the lion will turn and flee 
From a maid in the pride of her purity ; 
And the Power on high, that can shield the good 
Thus from the tyrant of the wood. 
Hath extended its m.ercy to guard me as well 
From the hands of the leaguering infidel. 
I come — and if ^ f.r>me in vain 
Never, oh never, we meet again . 
Thou hast done a fearful deed 
In falling away ft-om thy father's creed : 
Init dash that turban to earth, and sign 
Tlie sign of the cross, and for ever be mine ; 
Wring the black drop from thy heart, 
.'^nd to-morrow unites us no more to part." 

" And where should our bridal couch be spread? 
In the midst of the dying and the dead ? 
Torto-moiTOW we give to the slaughter and flame 
The sons and the shrines of the Christiim name. 
None, save thou and thine, I 've sworn, 
Shall be left upon the morn : 
Put thee will I bear to a lovely spot, 
Where our hands shall be join'd, an<l our 

sorrow forgot. 
There thou yet shalt be my bride. 
When once again I 've quell'd the pride 
Of Venice ; and her hated race 
Have felt the arm they would debase 
Scourge, with a whip of scorpions, those 
Whom vice and envy made my foes."* 

Upon his liand she laid her own — 

Light wa^ the touch, but it thrill d to the bone, 

And shot a chillness to his heart, 

VMiich fix'd him beyond the power to start. 

Though slight was that grasp so mortal cold, 

He could not loose him from its hold ; 

But never did clasp of one so dear 

Strike on the pulse with such feeling of fear. 



As those thin fingers, long and wliite, 
Froze through his blood by their touch that night 
The leverish glow of his brow was gone. 
And his heart sank so stiU that it felt like ston<i 
As he look'd on the face, and beheld its hue, 
So deeply changed from what he knew : 
Fair but faint — without the ray 
Of mind, that made each feature play 
Like sparkling waves on a sunny day ; 
And her motionless lips lay still as death, 
And her words came forth without herbreatli. 
And there rose not a heave o'er her bosom'a 

swell, [dwtlL 

And there seem'd not a pulse in her veins Ui 
Though her eye shone out, vet the lids wire 

fix'd, [unmixM 

And the glance that It gave wa.s wild and 
With aught of change, as the eyes may seein 
Of the restless who walk in a troubled dream : 
Like the figures on arras, that gloomily glare, 
Stin-'d by the breath of the wintiy air, 
So seen by the dying lamp's fitful light, 
Liil'eless, but life-like, and awful to sight; 
As they seem, through the dimness, about to 

come dowTi [frown .1^ 

From the shadowy wall where their iraag« . 
Fearfully flitting to and fro. 
As the gusts on the tapestry come ami go. 

"If not for love of me be given 

Thus much, then, for the love of heaven,— 

Again I say — that tu.ban tear 

From ofl" tiiy faithless brow, and swrai 

Thine injured countiy's sons to spare, 

Or thou art lost ; and never shalt see — 

Not earth— that's past — but heaven or me • 

If this thou dost accord, albeit 

A heavy doom 't is thine to meet. 

That doom shall half absolve thy sin, 

And mercy's gate may receive thee w'thin -' 

But pause one moment more, and take 

The curse of Him thou didst forsake ; 

And look once more to heaven, and see 

Its love for ever shut from thee. 

There is a light cloud by the moon — 

T is passing, and will pass full soon— 

If, by the time its vapouiy sail 

Hatli ceased her shaded orb to veil. 

Thy heart within thee is not changed. 

Then God and man are both avenged; 

Dark will thy doom V.e, darker still 

Thine immortality of ill." 

A'.p look'd to heaven, and saw on hig^ 
The sign she spake of in the sky ; 



THE SIEGE OF COKINTH. 



71 



Btit Iii^ heart was swf Hen, and tiim'd aside, 

By dff}) interminable pritia. 

This first false passion of his breast 

Roll'd like a toirent o'er the rest. 

He sue for mercy I He dismay 'd 

By wild words of a timid maid ! 

He, \\Tong'd by Venice, vow to save 

Her sons, devoted to the gi'ave! 

No — though that cloud were thunder's worst, 

And charged to crush him — let it bui'st ! 

*fTe loolc'd upon it earnestly 
^\'1thout an accent of reply ; 
He watch'd it passing ; it is flown . 
Fu.l on his eye the clear moon shone, 
And thus he spake — " Whate'er my fate, 
I am no changeling — 'tis too late: 
The reed in stonns m.ay bow and quiver. 
Then rise again; the tree must shiver. 
What Venice made me, I must be. 
Her foe in all, save love to thee : 
But thou art safe : oh, fly with me ! " 

He turn'd, but she is gone ! 

Mothing is there but the column stone. 

fl ith she sunk in the earth, or melted in air.> 

He saw not — he knew not — but nothin g is ther 3. 



The night is past, and shines the sun 
As if that mom were a jocund one. 
Lightly and brightly breaks away 
The Morning from her mantle grey, 
And the Noon will look on a sultry day. 
Hark to the trump, and the dnim. 
And the mournful sound of the barbarous horn 
And the flap of the banners, that flit as they 'w 
borne, [hum, 

Anc the neigh of the steed, and the multitude's 
And the clash, and the shout, "They come! 
they come ! " [the sword 

Th* horsetails are pluck'd from the gi'ound, and 
From its sheath ; and they foim, and but wait 

for the word. 
Tartar, and Spahi, and Turcoman, 
Strike your tents, and throng to the van ; 
Moiuit ye. spur ye, skirr the plain, 
Th;>.i the fugitive may flee in vain, 
Wlicn he breaks from the town; and noncescape, 
Aged or young, in the Christian shape; 
While your fellows on foot, in a fiery mass. 
Bloodstain the breach through a\ hich "they pass. 
The steeds are all bridled, and snort to the rein ; 
Curved is each neck, and flowing each mane; 
White is the foam of their champ on the bit : 
The spears are uplifted; the matches i.re lit* 



The cannon are poir. .ofl, and ready to roar. 

And cmsh the wall they have crumbled before 

FoiTT.s in his phalanx each Jani/.ar; 

Alp at tlieir head ; his right ann is bare, 

So is the blade of his scimitar ; 

The khan and the pachas are all at tl eirpost 

The vizier himself at the head of the host. 

When the culverin's signal is fired, then on ; 

Leave not in Corinth a living one — 

A priest at her altars, a chief in her halls, 

A hearth in her mansions, a stone on her walls 

God and the prophet — Alia Hu ! 

Up to the skies with that wild halloo ! 

* There the breach lies for passage, the ladder 

to scale; [ye fail? 

And your hands on your sabres, and how should 
Hewhofirstdownswiththe red cross may crave 
His heart's dearest wish ; let him ask it, and 

have ! " 
Thus utter'd Coumourgi, the dauntless vizier; 
The reply was the brandish of sabre and spear, 
And the shout of fierce thousands in joyoan 

ire: — 
Silence — hark to the signal — fire ! 



As the wolves, that headlong go 

On the stately bufi'alo, 

Though with fiery eyes, and angry roar, 

And hoofs that stamp, and horns that gors, 

He tramples on earth, or tosses on high 

The foremost, who rush on his strength ba^ 

to die ; 
Thus against the wall they went. 
Thus the first were backward bent; 
Many a bosom, sheathed in brass, 
Strew'd the earth like broken glass, 
Shiver'd by the shot, that tore 
1 he gi-ound whereon they moved no more 
Even as they fell, in files they lay, 
Like the mower's grass at the close of day. 
When his work is done on the levell'd plain 
Such was the fall of the foremost slain. 



As the spring-tides, with heavy plash. 

From the cliff's invading dash 

Huge fragments, sapp'd by the ceaseless flow 

Till white and thundering down they gf>, 

Like the avalanche's snow 

On the Alpine vafes below ; 

Thus at length, outbreathed and worn, 

Corinth's sons \yer<t downward borne 

By the long and oft renew'd 

Charge of tlie Moslem multitude. 



72 



THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 



In finnness they stood, and in masses they 

fell, 
Heap'd, by the host of the infidel, 
Hiind to hand, and foot to foot : 
Kotliing there, save dea h, was mute; 
Stroke, and thrust, and flash, and cry 
For quarter, or for victory. 
Mingle there with the volleying thunder, 
Which makes the distant cities wonder 
How the sounding battle goes, 
It ^^•ith them, or lor their foes ; 
II' they must mom-n, or may rejoice 
In tli'it annihilating voice, 
\Vhic!z pierces the deep hills through and 

trough 
With an echo dread and new : 
You might have heard it, on that day, 
O'er Salamis and Megara ; 
(We have heai-d the hearers say^ 
Even unto Pirajus' bay. 



Fromthepoint of encountering blades to the 

hilt. 
Sabres and swords with blood were gilt ; 
But the rampart is won, and the spoil begun, 
And all but the after carnage done. 
Shriller shrieks now mingling come 
From within the plunder 'd dome: 
Hark to tlie haste of flying feet, 
That splash in the blood of the slippery str<>et; 
But here and tliere, where 'vantage ground 
Against the foe may still be found. 
Desperate groups, of Iw elve or ten, 
Make a pause, and turn again — 
With banded backs against the Avail, 
Fiercely stand, or fighting fall. 

There stood an old man — his hairs werewhite, 
B\it his veteran ann was full of might: 
So gaUantly bore he the brunt of the fray. 
The dead before him, on that day. 
In a semicircle lay ; 
Still he combated unwounded, 
Though retreating, unsurrounded. 
Many a scar of Ibnner fight 
Lurk'd beneath his corslet bright; 
But of every wound his body bore. 
Each and all had been ta'en before: 
Though aged, he was so iron of limb. 
Few of om- youth could cope with him ; 
And the foes, whom he singly kept at bay, 
Outnumber'd his thin hairs of silver gre/. 
From riglit to leit his sabre swpt: 
Many an Othman mother wept 
Sons that were uubora, when dipp'd 



His weapon first in Moslem gcre. 

Ere his years could count a score. 

Of all he might have been the sire 

Who lell that day beneath his ire : 

For, sonless left long years ago, 

His wrath made many a childless foe; 

And since the day, when in tho strait^ 

His only boy had met his fate, 

His parent's iron band did doom 

More than a human hccaipmb. 

If shades by carnage be ajipeased, 

Patroclus' spirit less was pleased 

Than his, Minotti's son, who died 

"V^Tiere Asia's bounds and ours divide. 

Buried he lay, where thousands beibre 

For thousands of year's were inhumed on th( 

shore ; 
What of them is left, to tell 
Where they lie, and how they fell? 

Not a stone on their turf, nor a Lone in theii 
graves ; 

But they 11 ve in the verse that immortally save* 

XXVI. 

Hark to the Allah shout! a band [h>uid. 

Of the Mussulman bravest and best is ^ 

Their leader's nervous ann is bare. 

Swifter to smite, and D'iver to spare — 

Unclothed to the shoulder it waves them .■>n; 

Thus in the fight is he ever Icnown : 

Others a gaudier garb may show, 

To tempt the spoil of the greedy foe ; 

Many a hand's on a richer hilt, 

But none on a steel more ruddiiy gilt; 

Many a loltier tm-ban may wear, — 

Alp is but known by the white ai-m bare; 

Look through the thick of the fight, 'tis ther* 

There is not a standard on that shore 

So well advanced the ranks before ; 

There is not a banner in Moslem war 

Will lure the Delhis half so far; 

It glances like a falling star ! 

Where'er that mighty ann is seen, 

The bravest be, or late have been ; 

There the craven cries for quarter 

Vainly to the vengeful Tartar: 

Or the hero, silent lying, 

Scorns lo yield a groan in dying; 

Mustering his last feeble blow 

'Gainst the neiu-est levell'd foe, 

Though faint beneath the mutual wound, 

Grappling on the gory ground. 

XXVII. 

Still the old man stood erect, 

And AU» » "•*^ *"«m«'i.t chock'il 



THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 



73 



"Yiildthei. Minotti; quarter take, 
For thiue own, ihy daughter's sake." 

"Novel, renegado, never! [ever." 

Though the life of thy gift would last for 

" Francesca I — Oh, my promised bride ! 
Must she loo perish by thy pride?" 

"She is safe." — "Wliere? where?" — In 

heaven ; 
From whence thy traitor soul is dnven — 
Far iron) u.ee, and undefiled," 
Grimly then Minotli smiled, 
As he saw Alp: staggering bow 
Before his words, as with a blow. 

'Oh G od ! -when d ied she ?" — " Yesternight — 

Nor weep I lor her spirit's flight: 

None of my pure race shall be 

Slaves to Mahomet and thee — 

Come on !" — That challenge is in vain — 

Alp'ji already with the slain! 

While Minotti's words were wTeaking 

M ore revenge in bitter speaking 

Than his falchion's point had found, 

IJad the time allow'd to wound. 

From within the neighbouring porch 

Of a long defended church 

WTiere tlie last and desperate few 

Would the failing fight renew. 

The sharp shot ciaah'd Alp to tne gi'ound ; 

Ere an eye could view the wound 

That crash'd thi-ough the brain of the infidel, 

Round he spun, and down he fell ; 

A flash like fire within his eyes 

Blazed, as he bent no more to rise, 

And then eternal darkness sunk 

Through all the palpitating trunk ; 

Nought oflil'e left, save a quivering 

Where his limbs were slightly shivering 

They turn'd him on his back ; his breast 

And brow were stain'd with gore and dust, 

And throi%h his lips the life-blood oozed, 

From its deep veins lately loosed; 

But in his pulse there was no throb, 

Nor on his lips one dying sob; 

Sigh, nor word, nor Ktniggling breath 

Heralded his way to death: 

Ere liis very thought could pray, 

Unancld he pass'd away, 

Without a hope from mercy's aid,— 

To the last — a Renegade. 

XXVIII. 

Fearfully the yell arose 

Uf his followers, and his foes; 



Tliese in joy, in fury those: 
Then again in conflict mixing, 
Clashing swords, and spears transfixu g, 
Interchanged the blow and thi'usl 
Hurling waiTiors in tlie dust. 
Street by street, and foot by foot, 
Still Minotti dares dispute 
The latest portion of the land 
Left beneath his high command ; 
With him, aiding heart and hand. 
The remnant of his gallant band. 
Still the church is tenable. 

Whence issued late the fated ht\h 
That half avenged the city's fd-'i 
Wlren Alp, her fierce ossailant, feD 
Thither bending sternly back, 
They leave before a bloody track ; 
And, with their faces to the foe. 
Dealing wounds with eveiy blow, 
The chief, and his retreating tJ-ain, 
Join to tliose within the fail _; 
There they yet may breathe awhile 
Shelter'd by the massy pile. 

XXIX. 

Brief breathing-time ! the turban 'd losl, 
With adding ranlcs and raging boast. 
Press onwards with such strength and heat 
Their numbers balk their own retreat ; 
For nniTow the way that led to the spot 
WTjere still the Christians yielded not; 
And the foremost, if feartid, may vainly try 
Through the massy column to tmTi and fly: 
They perforce must do or die. 
They die ; but ere their eyes could close. 
Avengers o'er their bodies rose ; 
Fresh and fm'ious, fast they fill 
The ranks unthinn'd, though slaughter'd still; 
And faint the weary Christians wax 
Before the still renew'd attacks: 
And now the Othmans gain the gate, 
Still resists its iron weight. 
And still, all deadly aim'd and hot. 
From eveiy cre'^'ice comes the shot; 
From every shatter'd window pour 
The volleys of the sulphurous shower; 
But the portal wavering glows and weak— 
The iron yields, the hinges creak- 
It bends — it falls — and all is o'er; 
Lost Corinth may resist no more! 

XXX. 

Darkly, s,ce«dy, and all alone, 
Minotti stood o'er the altar stone: 
Madonna's face upon him shone. 



74 



THE SIEGE iOF.pORINTH 



Paint«d in heiveruj' hues above, 
Witt eyei of light and looks of love; 
\ud phiccd upon that holy shrine 
To fix om* thoughts on things divine, 
When pictured there, we kneeling see 
Her, and the boy-God on her knee. 
Smiling sweetly on each prayer 
To heaven, as if to waft it there 
Still she smiled ; even now she smiles, 
Though slaughter streams along her aisles: 
Minotti lifted his aged eye, 
\nd made the sign of a cross with a sigh. 
Then seized a torch which blazed thereby; 
And still he stood, while, with steel and flame, 
luwaru and onward the MussulinaQ came 



Massy and deep, a glittering prize, 
Bnghtly it sparkles to phmdercrs' eyesi 
That mom it held the holy wine, 
Converted by Christ to his bluod so ilivin*. 
Which his worshippers drank at the break 
of day, [*"'&>• 

To shrive their souls ere they joiu'd ia ib* 
Still a few drops within it lay ; 
And round the sacred table glow 
Twelve lofty lamps, in splendid row. 
From the purest metal cast ; 
A spoil — the richest, and the last ' 



The 'aults beneaUi the mosaic stone 
Contain'd the dead of ages gone ; 
Their names were on the graven floor. 
But now illegible with gore ; 
The carved crests, and cmious hues 
The varied marble's veins diffuse, [slrown 
Were smear 'd, and slippery — stain'd and 
With broken swords, and helms o'erthrown : 
There were dead above, and the dead below 
Lay cold in many a coffin'd row; 
You might see them piled in jable state. 
By a pale light through a gloomy grate; 
But War ha<i enter'd their dark caves, 
And stored along the vaulted giaves 
Her sulphurous treasures, thicl^ly spread 
In masses by the flcshless dead : 
Plere, throughout the siege, had been 
The Christians' chiel'esl magazine , 
To these a late fonn'd train now led, 
Minotti's last and stern resource 
Against the foe's o'envhclming force. 

XXXII. 

Tne foe came on, and few remain 

To strive, and those must strive in vain : 

For lack of further lives, to slake 

The thirs'. of vengeance now awake, 

With barbarous blows they gash the dead. 

And lop the already lifeless head, 

And fell the statues from their niche. 

And spoil the shrines of offerings rich, 

And from each other's rude hands wresl 

The silver vessels sai«ts had bless'd. 

To the high altar on they go ; 

Oh, but it made a g'orious bhow ! 

On its Uible still behold 

The cup of consecrated gold; 



So near they came, the nearest stretcn'a 
To gi-asp the spoil he almost reach'd. 

When old Minotii's hand 
Touch'd with the torch the train — 

'Tis fired! 
Spire, vaults, the shrine, the spoil, the slain, 
The turban'd victors, the Christian beau). 
All that of living or dead remain, 
Huil'd on high Avith the shiver'd fane, 

In one wild roar expired! [dowtt-— 
The shatter'd town — the walls tlirowa 
The waves a moment backward bent— 
The hills that shake, although unrent. 

As if an earthquake pass'd — 
The thousand shapeless things all drirea 
In cloud and flame athwart the heaven. 

By that tremendous blast — 
Proclaim'd the desperate conflict o'er 
On that too long afflicted shore : 
Up to the sky like rockets go 
All that mingled there below : 
Many a tall and goodly man, 
Scorch'd and shrivell'd to a -span, 
WTien he fell to eaith again 
Like a cinder strew'd the plain: 
Do>^T[i the ashes shower like rain; 
Some fell in the gulf, which ilheived Um 

sprinkles 
With a thousand circling wrinkles; 
Some fell on the shore, but, far away, 
Scatter'd o'er the isthmus lay: 
Christiai. or Moslem, which be they* 
Let theii mothers see and say! 
"Wlicn in cradled rest they lay, 
And ea-jl nursing mother smiled 
On the » eet sleep of her child. 
Little ficem'd she such a day 
Would rend those tender limbs away. 
Not the mati-ons that them bore 
Could discern their oflfspr'mg monj 



THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 



75 



That one moment left no trace 

More of human Ibnn or lace 

Save a scatter' d scalp or bone : 

And down came blazing rafters, strown 

Around, and many a falling stone, 

Deeply dinted in the clay, 

All blacken'd there and reeking lay. 

All tJie living things that heard 

That deadly earth-shock disappear'd : 

The wild b'irds flew ; the wild dogs fled. 

And howling left the iinburietl dead ; 

The camels from their keepers broke , 

The distant steer torsook tlie yoke — 

Th<" iicarcr steed plunged o'er the plain, 

4>y« burst hu girth, and tore his rem; 



The bull-frog's note, from out the n.ar*li, 
Deep-mouthd arose, and doubly harsl,; 
The wolves ycU'd on the cavem'd hill 
Where echo roll'd in thunder still ; 
The jackal's troop, in gather'd cry,'0 
Bay'd from afar complainingly. 
With a mixd md mournful sound, 
Like crying babe, and beaten hound 
With sudden wing, and niflied breast. 
The eagle left his rocky nest. 
And mounted nearer to the snn. 
The clouds beneath him seem'd so dun; 
Their smoke assail'd his startled beak. 
And made him higher soar and shileh— « 
Thus was Co:iuth \ml and «oa! 



^arisina.* 



ADVERTISEMENT. 

Thx f.illiju'ing poem is grouiuleJ on acircum- 
StaJice iiiei;ticined in Giljbon's " Aiiti(imlies of 
ihe Ploii^;e oi Bnms%, ?ck." I am aware, that 
ki nioilern times the delicacy or fastidiousness 
of the reader m.'.y deem such subjects unfit for 
the purj)oses of poetry. The Greek dramatists, 
and some of the best of our old English writers, 
were of a diflerent opinion : as AUieri and 
Schiller have also been, more recently, up(jn 
the Continent. The foll<*wing extract will ex- 
plain the facts on which the story is founded. 
The name of Azo is sidistituled ior Nicholas, 
as more metrical. 

"Under the reign of Nicholas III. FeiTara 
was polluted with a domestic tragedy. By the 
testimony of an attendant, and his own ob- 
servation, the Marquis of Este discovered the 
incestuous loves of his wife Parisina, and 
^ugo, his bajitard son, a beautiful and valiant 
youth. They were beheaded in the castle by 
the sentence of a father and husband, who 
pi'blished his shame, and survived the'r exe- 
cution. He was unfortunate, if they were 
guilty: if they were innocent, he was still more 
unfoiiunate ; nor is there any possible situation 
in which 1 can sincerely ajiprove the last act 
of the justice of a parent." — Girhon's MU- 
ttllaneous Works, vol. iii. p. 470. 



lanstna. 



It is the hour •when from the boughs 
The nightingale's high note is heard ; 

It is the hour when lover^' vows 

Seem sweet in every w hisper'd word ; 

And gentle winds, and waters neai*, 

Make music to the lonely ear. 



Each flower the dews have lightJf vmt. 

And in the sky the stars are met, 
And on .he wave is deeper blue, 
And on (he leaf a browner hue. 
And in the heaven that clear obscure, 
So softly dark, and darkly pure, 
Mbich follows tlie decline of day. 
As twilight metis oeneath the moon away, 
II. 

But it is not to list to the waterfall 

Tiiat Parisina leaves her hall. 

And it is not to gaze on the heavenly Itirbt 

That the lady walks in tlic shadow of nigl.^ 

And if she sits in Este's bower, 

'T is not for the sake of its full-blown flov;er-« 

She listens — but not for the nightingale 

Though her car expects as set a tale. 

There glides a step through the foliage '.hitk. 

And her cheek grows pale — and her heart benti 
quii;l<- [leavea. 

There whispei-s a voice through the uistling 

And her blush returns, and her bosom hea^?*; 

A moment more — and they shall meet — 

'T is past — her lover 's at her I'cet. 

Ill, 
And what unio them is the woild be> '.'«, 
With ail its change of time and tide? 
Its living things — its earth and skv— 
Are nothing to their mind and eye*. 
■And heedless as the dead are th^ ' 

Of aught around, ebove, benea^'j; 
As if all else had pass'd awav, 

They only ior each other breathe; 
Their very sighs are full of joy 

So deep, that did it not decay. 
That happy madness would destroy 

The hearts which feel its ficy sway- 
Of guilt, of peril, do they dccn 
In that tumultuous tender di-ei»m? 
Who that have felt that passio . ^ pv<wer. 
Or paused, or fear'd in si :ch a I ) "■? 
Or thought how brief sjch mou-n^ji iastf 
But yet — they arc already pas,: 
Alas! we must awake before 
We know such vision couuis i= mon 



PAIIISINA. 



77 



With many a lirgeringlook they leave 

The spot of gr.ilty gladness past ; 
And though the) hope, and vow .they grieve, 

As if that parting were the last. 
The frequent sigh — the long embrace — 

The lip tiiat there woukl cling for ever, 
While glemus on Pai'isina's face 

The Heaven she fears will not forgive her 
As if each calmly conscious star 
Beheld her frailty from alar — 
The frequent sigh, the long emhrace, 
Vet binds them to their tiysting-place. 
Bnt it must come, and they must pai't 
In I'earlul heaviness of heart, 
With all the deep and shuddering chill 
Wliich foUows fast the deeds of ill. 



And Hugo is gone to his lonely bed, 

To covet tlicre another's bride ; 
But she must lay her conscious head 

A husband's trusting he'irt beside. 
But fcver'd in her sleep sle seems, 
And red her checli with troubled dreams, 

And mutters she in her unrest 
A name she dare not breathe by day. 

And clasj)s her lord unto the breast 
Which pants for one away : 
And he to thai embrace awakes, 
And, happy in the thought, mistakes 
Thai dreaming sigh, and warm caress, 
For such as he v.'as ^\•ont to bless ; 
And could in very fondness weep 
O'er her wlio loves iiim even in sleep. 



He cla«;p'd her sleeping to his hcajl, 

And listen 'd to each broken word: 
He hears — Why dolli Prince Azo start, 

As if the Archangel's voice he heard? 
And well he may — a deeper doom 
Could scarcely thunder o'er his tomb, 
When he shall wake to sleep no more, 
ind stand the eternal throne before. 
And well he may — his earthly peac 
Upon thai sound is doom'd to cea&.}. 
That sleeping whisper of a name 
Bespeaks her guilt and Azo's shame 
And whose that name'? that o'er his pillow 
Sor.nds fearful as the breaking billow. 
Which rolls the plank upon the shore, 

And dashes on the pointed rock 
The wretch who sinks to rise no more, — 

So came upon his soul the shock. 
Ard wliose that name? 'tis Hiigo's, — hi; — 
In sooth hi: had ooi dccm'd of ihi.- ' — 



Tis Hugo's, — he, the child of one 
He loved — his own all-evil son — 
The oU'spring of his wayward youth 
When he bctray'd Bianca's truth, 
The maid whose lolly could confide 
In him who made her not his bride. 



He ])luck'd his poniard in its sheat^j, 

But .sheaih'd it ere the point was biro- 
Howe'er unworthy now^ to breathe, 
He could not slay a thing so fair — 
Ac least, not smiiing — sleeping — there- 
Nay more: — he did not wake her then. 
But gazed upon ne'- with a glance 
Which,had she roused her I'rom her trance 
Had frozen her sense to sleep again-— 
And o'er his brow the burning lamp 
Gleam a on the dew-drops big and damp. 
She spake no more — but still she slumber'u— 
While, iu histliought, her days aie number 'd 

VIII. 

And with the morn he sought, and found. 
In many a tale from those around. 
The proof of all he feard to know. 
Their present guilt, his future woe; 
The long-conniving damsels seek 

To save themselves, and wouid transfer 
The guilt — the shame — the doom — to b«» 
Concealment is no more — they speak 
All circumstance which may compel 
Full credence to the tale they tell: 
And Azo's tortured heart and ear 
Have nothing more to feci or hear. 

IX. 

Pie was noi, /)ne who brook'd delay: 

Within the chamber of his state, 
The chief of Este's ancient sway 

Upon his throne of judgment sale; 
His nobles and his guards are there, — 
Before him is the sinful .pair; 
Both young, — and one how passing fair! 
With swordless bell, and fetter 'd hand, 
Oh, Christ I that thus a son should stand 

Before a father's facel 
Yet thus must Hugo meet his sire. 
And hear the sentence of his ire. 

The tale of his disgrace I 
And yet he seems not overcome, 
&.lthough, as yet, his voice be dumb. 

X. 

And still, and pale, and silently 
Did I'arisina wait her doom ; 
How (lianged since last her speaking eye 
G laJiccd gladness round llie glitterir.g toi«A 



78 



PiiRISINA. 



Wf.ere high-bom men were proud to wail-^ 
Wiere Beauty watch'd to imitate 

Her gentle voice — her lovely mien— 
A.iifl gather from Her air and gait 

The graces of its queen : 
Then, — had her eye in sorrow wept, 
A thousand warriors forth had leapt, 
\ thousand swoi'ds had sheathless shone, 
aral made her quarrel all their own. 
Now, — what is she? and what are they? 
Can she command, or these obey ? 
A.11 silent and unheeding now, 
With downcast eyes and knitting brow. 
And folded arms, luid freezing air, 
And lips that scarce their scorn forbear, 
Her knights and dames, her court — is there: 
And he, the chosen one, whose lance 
Had yet been couch'd before her glance. 
Who — were his arm a moment free- 
Had died or gain'd her liberty; 
The minion of his father's bride, — 
He, too, is fetter'd by her side ; 
Nor sees her swoln and full eye swim 
•T(ess for her own despair than him : 
Those lids — o'er which the violet vein 
Wandering, leaves a tender stain, 
Shining through the smoothest white 
That e'er did softest kiss invite — 
Now seem'd with hot and livid glow 
To press, not shade, the orbs below; 
Which glance so heavily, and fill, 
As tear on tear gi-ows gathermg still. 

XI. 

And he for her had also wept, 

But for the eyes that on him gazed: 
His son-ow, if he felt, it slept; 

Stern and erect his brow was raised. 
Whate'er the grief his soul avow'd, 
He would not shrink before the crowd; 
P ut yet he dared not look on her : 
Remembrance of the hours that were— 
His gi-ilt — his love — his present state — 
His father's wrath — all good men's hate— 
His earthly, his eternal fate — 
And hers, — oh hers ! he dared not throw 
One look upon that deathlike brow! 
Else had his rising heai-t betray 'd 
R anorse for all the wreck it made. 

XII. 

And Azo spake : — "But yesterday 

I gloried in a wife and son; 
That dream this morning pass'd away; 

Ere day declines, I shall have none. 
My life nuist linger on alone; 
I'.'fJl , — let that pass, — there breathes not one 
\S"ho would not do as I hav« done: 



Those ties are broken — not by me ; 

Let that too pass ; — the doom 8 prepwed 
Hugo, the priest awaits on thee. 

And then — thy crime's reward! 
Away ! address thy prayers to Heaven, 

Before its evening stars are met— 
Learn if thou there canst be forgiven; 

Its mercy may absolve thee yet. 
But here, upon the earth beneath, 

There is no spot where thou and I 
Togethcj, for an hour, could brealhe: 

Farewell ! I will not see thee die — 
But thou, frail thing ! shall view his head«^ 

Away! I cannot speak the rest: 

Go ! woman of the wanton breast 
Not I, but thou his blood dost shod'. 
Go! if that sight thou canst outlive. 
And joy thee in the life I give." 

XIII. 

And here stem Azo hid his face — 
For on his brow the swelling veir 
Throbb'd as if back upon his brain 
The hot blood cbb'd and flow'd again, 
And therefore bow'd he for a space. 
And pass'd his shaking hind along 
His eye, to veil it from the throng; 
"While Hugo raised his chained hands. 
And for a brief delay demands 
His father's ear: the silent sire 
Forbids not what his words require. 

" It is not that I dread the death— 
For thou hast seen me by thy side 
All redly thi-ough the battle ride, 
And that not once a useless brand 
Thy slaves have wrested from my hand, 
Hath shed more blood in cause of thine, ■ 
Than e er can stain the axe of mine: 
Thou gav'st, and may'st resume my 
A gift for which I thank thee not; 
Nor are my mother's wTongs forgot. 
Her slighted love and ruin'd name. 
Her offspring's heritage of shame; 
But she is in the gi-ave, where he. 
Her son, thy rival, soon shall bo. 
Her broken heart — my sever'd head- 
Shall witness for thee from the dead 
How trusty and how tender were 
Thy youthful love — paternal care. 
'T is true that I have done thee wrong — 
But wrong for wrong : — this decm'd tisj 

bridp. 

The otli-. victim of thy pride. 

Thou know st for me was destined long. 

Thou sawoi and covetedst her channs«— 

And with thy very crime — my birth, 

Thou tauntedst ite — ca little worth : 



PARISINA. 



A match ignoble for her arms, 
Because, forsooth, I could not claim 
The la\vfiil heirship of thy name, 
Nor sit on Este"s lineal throne : 

Yet, were a few short summers mine, 
"M}- name should more than Este's shine 
With honours all my ow n. 
I had a sword — and have a breast 
That should have won as haught^ a crest 
As ever waved along the line 
Of all these sovereign sires of thine. 
Not always knightly spurs are wora 
The brightest by the better born ; 
And mine have lanced my coui-ser's flank 
Before proud chiefs of princely rank, 
When charging to the cheering cry 
Of ' Este and of Victory ! ' 
I will not plead the cause of crime, 
Nor sue thee to redeem from time 
A lew brief hours or days that must 
At length roll o'er m\- reckless dust :— 
Such maddening moments as my past, 
They could not, and th'-y did not, last 
Albeit my birth and name be base, 
And thy nobility of race 
Disdain'd to deck a thing like me — 
Yet in my lineaments they trace 
Some features of my lather's face, 
And in my spirit — all o!" thee. 
From thee — this tamelessness of heart— 
From thee — nay, wherefore dost thou stai't?— 
From thee in all their vigour came 
My ann of strength, my soul of tlame — 
Thou didst not give me life alone, 
But all that made me more thine own. 
See what thy guilty love hath done! 
Repaid thee with too like a son ! 
I am no bastard in my soul, 
For that, like thine, abhon-'d control: 
And for my bre;Hh, that hasty boon 
Thou gav'st anc will resume so soon, 
I valued it no n )re than thou. 
When rose thy cascjue above thy brow, 
And we, all side by side, have striven, 
fl.nd o'er the dead our comscrs driven: 
The past is nothing — and at last 
The future can but be the past ; 
Yet would I that I then had died; 

For though thou woik'dst my mother's iJ \ 
Lnd made thy own my destined bride, 

I feel thou ar m-y lather still ; 
And, harsh as j'lnds thy hard decree, 
Tis not unjust, although from thee. 
Be{j-ot in sin, to die in shame, 
My life begun and ends the same : 
A» enW fhe sire, so en'd the son, 
A<td tUou laiM uiinish both in one 



My crime seems w^orse to human 'ritw^ 
But God must judge between us tool" 

XIV. 

He ceased — and stood with folded anns 
On which the circling fetters sounded , 
And not an ear but felt as wouu;v>l, 
Of all the chiefs that there were rank'd. 
When those dull chains in meeting I'lauiul 
Till Pa-isina s fatal charms 
Again attracted every eye — 
Would she thus hear him doom'd to dia! 
She stood, I said, all pale and still, 
The living cause of Hugo's ill : 
Her eyes unmoved, but full and wide, 
Not once had turn'd to either side — 
Nor once did those sweet eyelids close, 
Or shade the glance o'er which they rose, 
But round their orbs of deepest blue 
The circling white dilated grew — 
And there with glassy gaze she stood 
As ice were in her curdied blood ; 
But every now and then a tear 
So large and slowly gather'd slid 
From the long-dark fringe of that fair Ik^ 
It was a thing to see, noi near ! 
And those who saw, it did surprise, 
Such drops could fall from human eyes. 
To speak she thouglil — the imperfect note 
Was choked witliin her swelling throat, 
Yet seem'd in that low hollow groan 
Her whole heart gushing in the tone. 
It ceased — again she thought to speak, 
Then burst her voice in one loiig shriek, 
And to the earth she fell like stone 
Or statue from its base o'erthrown, 
More like a thing that ne'er had life,— 
A monument of Azo's wife, — 
Than her, that living guilty thing, 
Whose every passicm was a sting, 
Which urged to guilt, but could not beii 
That guilt's detection and despair. 
But yet she lived — and all too soon 
Recovcr'd from that death-like swoon- 
But scarce to reason — every sense 
Had been o'erslrung by pangs intense; 
And each frail fibre ofhtr brain 
(As l«)wslrings, when relay d by 'ain. 
The erring arrow launch aside) 
Sent forth iier thoughts all wild and wide— ' 
The past a blank, the future black. 
With glimpses of a dreary track, 
Like lightning on the desert ])ath, 
When midnight storms are mustering wrath 
She fear'd — she felt that something ill 
Lay on her soul, so deep and chill — 
That there was sin and shame she knew ; 
That some one was to die — but who? 



80 



PAEISIInA. 



She hail forgotten: — did she breathe? 

Could this be still the earth beneath, 

The sky above, and men around ; 

Or were they fiends who now so frowi "d 

On one. beiorc whose eyes each eye 

Till t];en had smiled in sympathy ? 

All was confused and undefined 

To lier all-jan'd and wandering mind; 

A (haos ol' wild hopes and fears: 

And now in laughter, now in tears. 

But madly still in each extreme, 

She strove with that convulsive dream : 

For so it seem'd on hei to break : 

Oh' vainly mast she strive to wake! 



The Convent bells are ringing, 

But mournfully and slow; 
In the grey square tuiret swinging, 

With a deep soun 1, to and fro. 

Heavily to the heart they go I 
Hark! the hymn is siiiL'ing — 

The song for the dead below, 

Or the living who shortly shall be so! 
F(>r a o .-parting being's soul [knoll : 

The death-hymn jieals and the hollow bells 
He is near his mortal goal; 
Kneeling at the friar's knee; 
Sad to hear — and piteous to see — 
Kneeling on the bare cold ground, 
"With the block before and the giiai-ds 

around — 
And the headman ^vith his bare arm ready. 
That the blow may be both swift and steady, 
feels if the axe be sharp and true — 
Since he set its edge anew : 
Whilt thi3rowd in a speechless circle gather 
/u see the Son fall by the doom of the Fairer. 

XVI. 

It is a lovely hour as yet 

Before the summer sun shall set. 

Which rose upon that heavy day, 

And mock'd it with his steadiest ray; 

And his evening beams are shed 

Full (in Hugo's fated head. 

As bis last confession pouring 

To the monk, his doom deploring 

In jjcnitential holiness. 

He bends to hear his accents bless 

V\'ith absolution such as may 

U'ipe our mortal stains a\vay. 

That high sun on his head did glisten 

As he there did bow and listen — 

And the rings of chestnut hair 

Curl'd half down his neck so bare; 

But brighter still the beam was thrown 

Upon tlie axe which neaj- him shone 



With a cleat and ghastly glitter— 
Oh ! that parting hour was bitter! 
Even the stern stood chill'd with awe: 
Dark the crime, and just the law — 
Vet thev shudder'd as they saw. 



The parting prayers are said and over 
Of that false son — and daring lover I 
His beads and sins are all recounted. 
His houi's to their last minute mountedv*. 
His mantling cloak before was stripp'd. 
His bright brown locks must now be clipp'fll- 
'Tis done — all closely are they shorn — 
The vest which till 'his moment won> — 
The scarf which Parisina gave — 
Must not adorn him to the grave. 
Even that must now be Uirown aside. 
And o'er his eyes the kerchief tied ; 
But no — that last indignity 
Shall ne'er approach his haughty eye. 
All feelings seemingly subdued. 
In deep disdain were half renew'd, 
AVliini headman's hands prepared to bind 
Those eyes which would not brook such blinc 
As if they dared not 1o(>k on death. 
" No — yours my forfeit blood and breatti— 
These hands are chaiu'd — but let me dlo 
At least with an unshackled eye — 
Strike: " — aiul as the word he said, 
Upon the block he bow'il his head ; 
These the last accents Hugo spoke: 
".Strike:" — and Hashing fell the strolie— 
RoUd the head — and, gushing, sunk 
Back the stain'd and heaving trunk. 
In the dust, which each deep vein 
Slaked with its ensanguhicd rain: 
His eyes and lips a morneat quiver, 
Convulsed and quick—then fix i\)T ever. 
He died as erring nuui should die. 
Without display, without pararte: 
Meekly had he bow'ii and pray'd, 
As not disdaining priestly aid, 
Nor desperate of all hope on high. 
And while before the prior kneeling, 
His heart was wean'd from earth ly.fee'.ing; 
His wrath tVd sire — his paramour — 
What were they in such an hour? 
No more reproach — no more desjiair ; 
N o thought but heaven— no word but prayer- 
Save the few which from him broke 
When, bared to meet the headman's sl.t)ke, 
He claim'd to die with eyes unbound 
His sole adieu to those around. 

XVIII. 

Shrill as the lips that closed in death, 
Each gfizcr's bosom held his breath- 



PARISINA. 



81 



BjI *et, a fat, from man to man, 

A cold electric shiver ran, 

As down the deadly Wow descended 

On Jiim whose life and love thus ended; 

And, with a hushing sound compress' d,. 

A sigh shrank back on every breast; 

But no more thrilling noise rose there, 
Beyond the blow that to the block 
Pierced tliiough with forced and sullen 
shock. 

Save one: — what cleaves the silent air 

So madly shrill — so passing wild? 

That, as a mother's o'er her child. 

Done to death by sudden blow, 

To the sky these accents go, 

Like a soul's in endless woe. 

Through Azo's palace-lattice driven, 

That hon-id voice ascends to heaven, 

And eveiy eye is turn'd thereon; 

But sound and sight alike are gone! 

Ft was a womiua's shriek — and ne'er 

In madlier accents rose despair; 

\nd those who heard it, as it past, 

In mercy ^^■ish'd it were the last. 

XIX. 

Hugo is fallen; and, from that hour. 

No more in palace, liall, or bower, 

Was Parisina heard or seen : 

Her name — as if she ne'er had been — 

Wa-s banish'd from each lip and ear, 

r^ilce words of wantonness or fear ; 

.^nd from Prince Azo's voice, by none 

Was mention heard of wife or son; 

No tomb — no memory had they; 

Theirs was imconsecrated clay; 

At least the knight's who died that day. 

B'at Parisina's fate lies hid 

Like dust beneath the coffin lid: 

Whether in convent she abode, 

Arid won to heaven her dreary road, 

By blighted and remorseful years 

Of scourge, and fast, and sleepless tears ; 

Or if she iell by bowl or steel. 

F(>r that dark love she dared to feel; 

Or if, upon the moment smote, 

She died by tortures less remote ; 

Like him she saw upon the block. 

With heart that shared the headman's shock 

In quicKcn'd brokenness that came, 

In pity, o'er her shatter'd frame, 

None knew — and none can ever know : 

But whatsoe'er its end below. 

Her life began and closed in woe! 

XX. 

And Azo found another bride. 

And goodly sont ?rew by his side: ^ 



But none so lovely and so brave 

As him who wiihei'd in the grave: 

Or if they were — on his cold eye 

Their giinvth but glanced uidiceded 'y. 

Or noticed with a smother 'd sigh. 

But never tear his cheek descended, 

And never smile his bn)w urbended ; 

And o'er that fair broad brow were wrougld 

The intersected lines of thought; 

Those furrows which the burning share 

Of Sorrow ploughs untimely there ; 

Scars of the lacerating mind 

Which the Soul's war doth leave behind 

He was past all mirth or woe : 

Nothing more remain'd below 

But sleepless nights and heavy days, 

A mind all dead to scorn or praise, 

A heart which shunn'd itself — and yet 

That would not yield — nor could forget 

Which, when it least appear'd to melt, 

Intently thought — intensely felt: 

The deepest ice which ever froze 

Can only o'er the surface close — 

The living stream lies quick below. 

And flows — and cannot cease to How. 

Still was his seal'd-iip bosom haunted 

By thoughts which Nature hath impianlcdj 

Too deeply rooted thence to vanish, 

Howe'er our stifled Tears we banish ; 

Wlien, struggling as they rise to start, 

We check those waters ol" the heart. 

They are not dried — those tears unshed 

But How back to the fountain head. 

And resting in their spring more pure. 

For ever in its depth enduic, 

Unseen, unwept, but uncongeal'd. 

And cherish' d most where least reveal'd 

With inward starts of feeling left. 

To throb o'er those of lile bereft; 

Without the power to fill again 

The desert gap which made his pain ; 

Without the hope to meet them where 

United souls, shall gladness share, 

With all the consciousness that he 

Had only pass'd a just decree ; 

That they had wrought their doom of ill , 

Yet Azo's age was \%Tetchcd still. 

The tainted branches of the tree. 

If lopp'd with care, a strength may gite 
By which the rest shall bloom and live 
All greenly fresh and wildly free 
But if the lightning, in its wratn. 
The waving boughs with fury scatlic, 
The massy trunk the ruin i'eels. 
And never more a leaf reveals. 



Clje ^momr of Cijillon: 



A FABLE. 



SONNET ON CHILLON. 

Etkbnal Spirit of the chainless Mind! 

Brightest in dungeons, Liberty ! thou art, 

For there thy habitatinn is the heait — 
The heart which love of thee alone can bind; 
And when thy sons to fetters are consign'd — 

To fetters, and the damp vault's dayless 
gloom, [dom, 

Their countiy conquers with their martyr- 
And Freedom's fame finds wings on every wind. 
Chillon I thy prison is a holy place, 

And thy sad floor an altar — I'or 'twas trod, 
Until his very steps have left a trace 

Worn, as if thy cold pavement were a sod, 
By Bonnivard ! — May none those marks efface! 

For they appeal from tyranny to God. 



To whom the goodly earth and nir 
Are bann'd, and ban-'d — Ibi bidden faril( 
But this was for my father's failli 
I suffer 'd chains and courted death ; 
That father perish'd at the stake 
For tenets he would not forsake; 
And for tlie same his lineal race 
In darkness found a dwelling-place; 
We were seven — mIio now are oae, 

Six in youth, and one in age, 
Finish'd as they had begun, 

Proud of persecution's rage; 
One in fire, and two in field, 
Their belief with blood have seai'd; 
Dying as their father dietl. 
For the God their foes denied ; 
Three were in a dungeon cast, 
Of whom this WTeck is left the last 



l^te ^Brisonev of €!jillon. 



My hair is grey, but not with years. 
Nor gi-ew it white 
In a single night,2 
As men's have grown from sudden fears : 
My limbs are bow'd, though not with toil 

But rusted with a vile repose, 
For they have been a dungeon's spoil, 
And n)ine has been the fate of those 



Tliere are seven pillars of Gothic mould. 
In Chillon's dungeons deep and old, 
There are seven columns, massy and f!rej. 
Dim with a dull imprison'd ray, 
A sunbeam whicrh hath lost its way. 
And tlirough the crevice and the cleft 
Of the thick wall is fallen and left; 
Creeping o'er the floor so damp, 
Like a marsh's meteor lamp : 
And in each pillar thc^re is a ring. 

And in each ring there is a chain ; 
That iron is a cankering thing, 

For in these limbs its tcelli remain, 
With marks that will not wear away 
Till I have done with thi> new day 



THE PRISONER OF CHILLON. 



e.) 



Which now is painful to these eyes, 
\^'hich liave not seen the sun so rise 
For years — I cannot count tliem o'er, 
I lost llieir long and heavy score, 
When my last brolher clroop'd and died, 
And I lay living by his side. 



They chain'd us each to a column stone, 
And we were three — yet, each alone; 
We could not move a single pace, 
We could not see each other's lace, 
But with that pale and livid light 
That made us strangers in our sight; 
And thus together — yet apart, 
Fetter'd in hand, but pined in heart; 
Twas still some solace, in the deaitb 
Of tlae i)ure elements of earth, 
To hearken to each other's speech, 
And each turn comforter to each 
With some new hope or legend old. 
Or song heroically bold; 
But even these at length gl•e^v cold. 
Our voices took a dreary tone, 
An echo of the dungeon stone, 

A gi-ating sound — not full and free 
As they of yore were wont to be: 
It might be fancy — but to me 
Thf V nevei sounded like our own* 



I was the eldest of the three. 

And to uphold and cheer the rest 
I ought to do — and did my best — 
And each did well in his degree. 

The youngest, whom my father loved 
Because our mother's brow was given 
To him — with eyes as blue as heaven, 
For him my soul was sorely moved : 
And truly might it be distress'd 
To see such bird in such a nest; 
For he was beautiful as day — 
(When day was beautiful to me 
As to young eagles being free) — • 
A polar day, which will not see 
A sunset till its summer's gone. 

Its sleepless summer of long light, 
llie snow-dad offspring of the sun : 

And thus he was as pure and bright. 
And in his natural spirit gay. 
With tears for nought but others' ills, 
AiiH Q en they flow'd like mountain rills, 
? ".S.St, he could assuage the woe 
W Uu.ki he abhorr'd to view below 



The other was as pure of mind, 
But fonn'd to combat with his kind; 
Strong in his frame, and oi" a mood 
Which "gainst the world in war had sf^ ""d. 
And perish'd in the foremost raiak 

W'ith joy : — ^but not in chains to pine 
His spirit wither'd with their clank, 

I saw it silently decline — 

And so perchance in soolh did mine 
But yet I forced it on to cheer 
Those relics of a home so dear. 
He was a hunter of the hills, 

Had follow'd there the deer and wolf; 

To him this dungeon was a gulf, 
And fetter'd feet the worst of ills. 

VI. 

Lake Leman lies by Chillon's walls 
A thousand feet in depth below 
Its massy waters meet and flow ; 
Thus much the fathom-line was sent 
From Chillon's snow-white baltlement,^ 

Which round about the wave eulhi'ala 
A double dungeon wall and wave 
Have made — and like a living grave 
BeUrvv the surface of the lake 
The d;u-k vault lies wherein we lay, 
We heard it ripple night and day ; 

Souu'ding o'er our heads it knock'd; 
And I have felt the winter's spray 
Wash through thebjvrs when winds were higk 
And wanton in the happy sky; 

And then the veiy rock hath rock'd, 

And I have felt it shake, unshock'd, 
Because I i-ould have smiled to see 
The death that wc uld have set me free 

VII. 

I said my nearer brother pined, 
I said his mighty heart declined, 
He loathed and put away his food ; 
It was not that 't was coarse and rude, 
For we were used to hunter's faie, 
And for the like had little care : 
The milk drawn from the mountain goal 
Was changed for water from the mo;il, 
Our bread was such as captive's tears 
Have moisten d many a thousand yean* 
Since man first pent his fellow men 
Like brutes within an iron den ; 
But what were these to us or him? 
These wasted not his heait or limo; 
My brothei''s soul wjis of that mould 
Which in a palace had grown coki, 
g2 



u 



THE PRISONER OF GHILLON. 



Had his free breathing been denied 
The range of the steep mountaia's side; 
But wliy delay the truth'.' — he (Ued. 
I saw, and could not hold his head, 
Nor reach his dying hand — nor dead, — 
Though hard I strove, but strove in vain, 
To rend and gnash my bonds in twain. 
1/c died — and they unlock'd his chain, 
^nd sco<;p'd for him a shallow grave 
Even from the cold earth of our cave. 
I begg'd them, as a boon, to lay 
His corse in dust whereon the day 
Might shine — it was a foolish thought, 
But then within my brain it wrought, 
That even in death his freeborn breast 
In such a dungeon could not rest. 
I might have spared my idle prayer — 
They coldly laugh'd — and laid him there 
The flat and tm'tiess earth above 
The being we so much did love ; 
His empty chain above it leant, 
Such mui-dei's fitti-jg monument! 



But he, the favourite and the flovcer, 

Mo„t cherish'd since his natal hour, 

His mother's image in fair face. 

The infant love of all his race. 

His marti»T'd father's dearest thought, 

My latest care, for whom I sought 

Tovhoard my life, that his might be 

Less ^\Tetched now, and one day free; 

He, too, who yet had held untired 

A spirit natui-al or inspired — 

He, too, was struck, and day by day 

Was wither'd on the sttJlc away. 

Oh, God! it is a fearful thing 

T ■» see the human soul take wing 

In any shape, in any mood: — 

I've seen it i-ushing forth in blood, 

I ve seen it on the breaking ocean 

Strive with a swoln convulsive motion, 

I 've seen tlic sick and ghastly bed 

Of Sin delirious with its dread: 

But these were horrors — this was woe 

Unmix'd with such — but sure and slow • 

He faded, and so calm and meek. 

So softly worn, so sweetly weak. 

So tearless, yet so tender — kind. 

And g^e^•ed for those he left behind ; 

With all the while a cheelc whose bloom 

Was as a mockery of the tomb, 

Whos« tints as gently sunk away 

As a departing rainbow's ray — 

An ey; )f most transparent iight, 

Tlia-' ost made the dungeon bright. 



And not a word of nxu-mm' — nut 

A groan o'er his untimely lov, — 

A little talk of better days, 

A little hope my own to raise, 

For I was STUik in silence — lost 

In this last loss, of all Uie most; 

And then the sighs he would suppress 

Of fainting nature's feebleness, 

More slowly dra\\ni, grevr less and less 

I listen'd, but I could not hear — 

I call'd, lor I was wild w ith fear; 

I knew 't was hopeless, i^ut my dread 

Would not be thus admonishofi ; 

I call'd, and thought 1 heard a sound— 

I burst my chain with one strong bound 

And rush'd to him: — 1 found him not, 

/only stiiT'd in this black spot, 

I only lived — I only (bew 

The accursed breath of dungeon-dew , 

The last — the sole - the dearest link 

Between me and the eternal brink, 

Which bound me to my failing race, 

Was broken in this fatal place. 

One on the earth, and one beneath — 

My brothers — botli had ceased to wreath* 

I took that hand which lay so stiU, 

Alas I my own was full as chill ; 

I had not strength to stir, or strive, 

But felt that I was still alive — 

A frantic feeling, when we know 

That what we love shall ne'er be so. 

I know not why 

I could not die, 
I had no earthly hope — but faith. 
And that forbade a selfish death. 



What next befell me then and there 

I know not well — I never knew — 

First came the loss of light, and air, 

And then of darkness loo : 
I had no thought, i:!o feeling — none — 
Among the stones I stood a stone, 
And was, scarce conscious what I wist, 
As shmbless crags within the mist; 
For all was blank, and bleak, and grey. 
It was not night — it was not day, 
It was not even the dungeon-light. 
So hateful to my heavy sight. 
But vacancy absorbing space, 
And fixedness — without a place; 
There were no stars — no earth — ^no time— 
No check — no change — no good — 0» 

crime — 
But silence, and a stirless breath 
VVhich ncitl'er was of life nor death; 



THE PRISONER OF CHILLON. 



8.^ 



A sci of siifjiiant idleness, 

lUinJ, boiiudlcss, mute, and motionless. 

s. 

A light broke in upon my brain, — 

It was the carol of a bird; 
It ceased, and then it came again, 

The sweetest song ear ever heard 
And mine was tiiankful till m\' eyes 
Ran over witli tlie glad surprise. 
And they that moment could not sc^ 
I was the mrite of misery; 
But then by dull degiees came back 
My senses to their wonted track, 
1 saw the dungeon walls and floor 
Close slowly round me as bel'ore, 
I saw the glinuner of the sun 
Crcepi'.ig as it before had done, 
But through the crevice where it came 
That bird was perch' d, as fond and tame, 

And tamer than upon the tree; 
A lovely bird, with azure wings. 
And song that said a thousand things. 

And seem'd to say them all for me! 
I never saw its like before, 
I ne'er shall see its likeness more: 
It seem'd like me to want a mate, 
But was not half so desolate, 
And it was come to love me when 
None lived to love me so again, 
And cheering from my dungeon's brink. 
Had brought me hack to feel and think. 
I know not if it late were free, 

Or broke its cage to perch on mine. 
But knowing well captivity, 

Sweet bird ' I could not, wish for thine ? 
Or if it were, in winged guise, 
A visitant fr^^m Paradise; [while 

For — Heaven forgive that thought! t i 
Which made uic both to weep and smile; 
I sometimes decm'd that it might be 
My brother's soul come down to me ; 
But then at last away it flew. 
And then 't was mortal — well I Icnew, 
For he would never thus liave flown, 
And left me twice so doubly lone, — 
Lone — as the corse within its shroud,' 
Lone — as a solitiuy cloud, 

A single cloud on a sunny daj', 
\^niile all the rest of heaven is clear 
A I'rown upon the atmosphere, 
That hath no business to appear 

When skies are blue, and earth is gay. , 

XT. 

A kind f>f change came in my f;ite, 
My kee|>ers grew compassionate; 



I know not what had made them so, 
They were inured to sights of woe. 
Put so it was : — my broken chain 
With links unfasten'd did remain. 
And it was liberty to stride 
Along my cell from side to side. 
And up and down, and then athwart 
And tread it over every part; 
And round the pillars one by one, 
lleturning where my walk begun. 
Avoiding onlv, as I trod, 
My brothers' graves without a sod ; 
For if I thought with heedless tread 
My step profaned their lowly bed, 
My breath came gaspingly and thick. 
And mv crush'd heart fell blind and sio* 



I made a footing in tlie jrall. 

It was not therefrom to escape, 
For I had buried one and all, 

"WTio loved me in a human sha])e ; 
And the whole earth would hencefoilli b« 
A wider prison unto me : 
No child — no sire — no kin had I, 
No partner in my misery ; 
I thought of this, and I was glad, 
For thought of them had made me mad; 
But I was curious to ascend 
To my barr'd windows, and to bend 
Once moie, upon the mountains high, 
The quiet of a loving eye. 



I saw them — and they were the sai-ie, 
They were not changed like me in frar»e 
I saw tl.c'ir thousand years of snow 
On high — their wide long lake below. 
And the blue Rhone in fullest flow ; 
I heard the torrents leap and gush 
O'er channell'd rock and l)rokcn bush; 
I saw the white-wall'd distant town, 
And whiter sails go skimming down ; 
And then there was alittle isle,-* 
Which in my very fare did smile, 

The only one in view ; 
A small green isle, it seem'd no more. 
Scarce broader than my dungeon floor, 
But in it there were three tall trees, 
Ana o'er it blew the mountain bree/.e, 
And by it there were waters flowing. 
And on it there were young flowers growing 

Of gentle breath and hue. 
The flsh swam by the castle wall, 
A n 'J they seem'd joyous each and ail : 



d6 



THE PRISONER OF CHILLON. 



The eagle rode the rising blast, 
Melhought he never flew so fast 
As then to me he seem'cl to fly, 
And then new tears came in my eye. 
And I felt troubled — and would Jain 
I had not left my recent chain ; 
And when I did descend again. 
The darkness of my dim abode 
Fell on me as a heavy load ; 
It was as is a new-dug gi'ave, 
Closing o'er one we sought to save, — 
And yet my glance, too much oppress'd. 
Had almost need of such a rest. 



It might be months, or years, or days, 
I kept no count — I took no note, 

I had no hope my eyes to raise, 

And clear them of their dreary mote; 

At last men came to set me free, 
I ask'd a(y why, and reck'd not where 



It was at length the same to me^ 

Fetter'd or letterless to be, 
I leani'd to love despair. 
And thus when they appear'd at laal^ 
And all my bonds aside were cast. 
These heavy walls to me had gi-own 
A hennitage — and all my own ! 
And half I felt as they -vwere come 
To tear me from a second home : 
With spiders I had friendship made. 
And watch'd them in their sullen trad«^ 
Had seen the mice by moonlight play. 
And why should I feel less than they? 
We were all inmates of one place, 
And I, the monarch of each race, 
Had power to kill — yet, strange to teSt 
In quiet we had leani'd to dwell — 
My very chains and I gi'ew friends. 
So much a long communion tends 
To make us what we are: — even I 
Regain'd my fieedom with a a^^A 



iHanfreli : 



A DRAMATIC POEM.' 



** Thers are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, 
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy." 



ORAMATIS PERSONS 

Manfred. 

Chamois Hunter, 

Abbot of St. Mauricb. 

Manuel. 

Herman. 

Witch op the Alps 

Arimanes. 

Nemesis. 

The Destinies. 

Spibits, <fcc. 



The ewe of the Drama is amongst the Hlglier 
J ,$ — partly in the Caslk of Manfred, and 
p*^ly in the Mountains. 



iWanfrelr. 



ACT I. 

SCENE I. 
Mji^fred alone. — Scene, a Gothic Gallery — 
Time, Midnight. 
Man. The lamp must be replenish'd, but 
even then 
It will not burn so long as I must watch: 
If y slumbers — if I slumber — are not sleep, 
But a continuance of enduring thought, 
Which then I can resist not . in my heart 
There is a vigil, and these eyes but close 
'io lo;)k within ; and yet I live, and bear 
The aspect and the form oi breathing men. 
But grief should be the instiuctov of the wise : 



Sorrow is knowledge : they who know the moAl 
Must mourn the deepest o'er the fatal truth. 
The Tree of Knowledge is not that of Life. 
Philosophy and science, and the springs 
Of wonder, and the wisdom of the world, 
I have essay 'd, and in my mind there is 
A power to make these subject to itself — 
But they avail not: I have done men good, 
And I have met with good even among men— 
But this avail'd not: I have had my foes. 
And none have baffled, many fallen before me— 
But this avail'd not: — Good, or evil, life, 
Powers, passions, all I see in other beings, 
Have been to me as rain unto the sands, 
Since that all-nameless hour. I have no dread 
And feel the curse to have no natui-al fear, 
Nor fluttering thi-ob, that beats with hopes or 

wishes. 
Or lurking love of sometliing on the eai'th.— 
Now to my task. — 

Mysterious Agency! 
Ye spirits of the unbounded Universe! 
"W'^hom I have sought in darkness and in light— 
Ye, who do compass earth about, and dwell 
In subtler essence — ye, to whom the tops 
Of mountains inaccessible are haunts, 
And earth's and ocean's caves familiai- things— 
I call upon ye by the WTitten charm 

Which gives me power upon you Kise' 

appear ! [^ pause. 

They come not j^et. — Now by the voice of him 
Wlio is the first among you — by this sign, 
Whicu makes you tremble — by the claims of 
him 

Who is imdying, — Rise ! appear ! Appear ! 

lA pame. 
If it be so. — Spirits of earth and air, 
Ye shall not thus elude me: by a power, 
Deeper than all yet urged, a tyrant-spell, 
Which had its birthplace in a star condemn'd, 
The burning wreck of a demolished world, 



88 



MxVNFRED. 



A wandeiing hell in the eternal space ; 
By the stronir curse whiib is upon my soul, 
The thought whicji is •witiiiii uje ami uiounume, 
1 do compel ye to my will. — Appear I 

[A star is seen at the darker end of the gal- 
lery: it is stationary ; and a voice is heard 
singing. 

First Spibit. 
Mortal ! to thy bidding bow'd, 
From my mansion in the cloud, 
Which the breath of twilight builds. 
And the summer's sunset gilds 
With the azure and vennilion, 
Which is mix'd for my pavilion; 
Though thy quest may be forbidden, 
On a star-beam I have ridden ; 
To thine adjuration bow'd, 
Mortal — be thy wish avoAv'd ! 

Voice of the Second Spirit. 
Mont Blanc is the monarch of mountains 

They crown 'd him long ago 
On a throne of rocks, in a robe of clouds, 

With a diadem of snow. 
Around his waist are forests braced. 

The Avalanche in his hand ; 
But ere it fall, that thundering ball 

Must pause for my command. 
The Glacier's cold and restless masa 

Moves onward day by day ; 
But I am he who bids it pass. 

Or with its ice delay. 
I am the spirit of the place, 

Couii make the mountain bow 
And qui\er to his cavern'd base — 

And what with me wouldst Thou ' 

Voice of the Third Spisit. 
In the blue depth of the waters. 

Where the wave hath no strife, 
WTiere the wind is a stranger, 

And the se;i-snake hath liie, 
Where the Mermaid is decking 

Her green hair with shells ; 
Like the storm on the surface 

Came the sound of thy eoells; 
O'er my calm Hall of Coral 

The deep echo roll'd — 
To the Spirit of Ocean 

Thy wishes unfold! 

FouKTii Spirit. 
Where the slumbering eaithquake 

Lies pillow'd on fire, 
Ajid the lakes of bitumen 

Rise boiiingly higher; 



Where the roots of the Anr^ta 

Strike deep in the earth 
As their summits to neavuji 

Shoot soaringly forth; 
I have quitted my birthpluce, 

Thy bidding to bide — 
Thy spell hath subdued me, 

Thy will be my guide I 

Fifth Spirit. 

I am the Rider of the wind, 

The Stirrer of the stoim ; 
The hurricane I left behind 

Is yet with lightning waira 
To speed to thee, o'er shore and sea 

I swept upon the blast : 
The fleet I met sail'd well, and yet 

'T will sink ere night be past. 

Sixth Spirit, 

My dwelling is the shadow of the night. 
Why doth thy magic torture me with li^ 

Seventh Spirit.^ 

The star which rules thy destiny 
Was ruled, ere earth began, by me . 
It was a world as fresh and fair 
As e'er revolved roimd sun in air; 
Its course was free and regular, 
Space bosom'd not a lovelier star. 
The hour aiTived — and it became 
A wandering mass of shapeless flame, 
A pathless comet, and a curse, 
The menace of the universe ; 
Still rolling on with innate force. 
Without a sphere, without a course, 
A bright deformity on high, 
The monster of the upper sky ! 
And thou ! beneath its influence bom— 
Thou worm ! whom I obey and scom-— 
Forced by a power (which is not tlnne. 
And lent thee but to make thee mine) 
For this brief moment to descend, 
Where these weak spirits round tine bend 
And parley with a thing like ihee — 
Wliat wouldst »liou. Child of Clay I with 
me? 

The Seven Spirits. 
Earth, ocean, air, night, mountains, winds, thy 
star. 
Are at thy beck and bidding, Child of Clay! 
Before thee at thy quest their spirits arc — 
What wouldst tliou with us, sou of morvals 
—say? 



MAXFRED. 



89 



Man. Forgctfuii.5ss 

l''irsi Spirit. Ofwhat— ol^rhom — and why? 

Man. Of that which is within me; read it 
there — 
Ye know it, and I cannot utter it. 

Spirit. We can but give thee that which we 
possess : 
Ask of us subjects, sovereignty, the power 
O'er earth, the whole, or portion, or a sign 
Which shall control the elements, whereof 
i^'e are the dominators, each and all, 
f hese shall be thine. 

3Ian. Oblivion, self-oblivion- 

Can ye not wring from out the hidden realms 
Ye offer so profusely what I ask? 

Spirit. It is not in om' essence, in our skill ; 
But — thou may'st die. 

Man. Will death bestow it on me? 

Spirit. We are immortal, and do not forget; 
We are eternal ; and to us the past 
Is, as the future, present. Art tliou answer'd? 

Man. Ye mock me — but the power which 
brought ye here [will I 

Hath made you mine. Slaves, scoff not at my 
The mind, the spirit, the Promethean spark, 
The lightning of my being, is as bright, 
Pervading, and far-darting as your own, 
And shall not yield to yours, though coop'd in 

clay! 
Answer, or I will teach you what I am. 

Spirit. We answer as we answer'd; ourreply 
Is even in thine own words. 
* Man. Wliy say ye so? 

Spirit. If, as thou say'st, thine essence be 
as ours, 
We have replied in telling thee, the thing 
Mortals call death hath nought to do with us. 

Man. I then have call'd ye from your realms 
in vain ; 
Ye cannot, oi ye w ill not, aid me. 

Spirit. Say ; 

What we possess we offer; it is thine : 
Bethink ere thou dismiss us, ask again — 
Kingdom, and sway, and strength, and length 
of days 

Man. Accursed ! whathaveltodo with days? 
They are too long already. — Hence — begone I 

Spirit. Yetpause: being here, om- will would 
do thee service; 
Bethink thee, is there then no other gift 
VMiich we can make not worthless in thini eyes? 

Man. No, none; yet stay — one momtnt, ere 
we part — 
I would behold ye face to face. I hear 
Your voices, sweet and melancholy sounds 
Aa musi: on the waters; and I see 



The steady aspect i* a cleai large star; 
But nothing more. Approach me as ye are, 
Or one, or all, in your accustom'd forms. 
Spirit. We have no lonns beyond the ele 
ments 
Of which we are the mind and i^rinciplc: 
But choose a fonn — in tha we will aj-pear 
3Ian. I have no choice ; Jiere is no fonn uu 
earth 
Hideous or beautiful to me. Let him. 
Who is most powerful of ye, take such aspeCi 
As unto him may seem most fitting — Come I 
Seventh Spirit. (Appearing in the shape oj 

a beautiful female Jigure. J Behold! 
3!an. Oh God ! if it be thus, and thou 
Art not a madness and a i ckery, 
I yet might be most happy. .. will clasp thee, 
And we again will be — {_The figure vanishei 
My heart is crush'd ! 

[Manfred /aZZs senseless. 



(A Voice is heard in the Incantation wldck 
follows.)'^ 

"\Mien the moon is on the wave, 
Aufl the glow-woiTTi in the grass, 

And the meteor on the grave. 
And the wisp on the morass ; 

When the falling stars are shooting; 

And the answer'd owls are hooting, - 

And the silent leaves are still 

In the shadow of the hill. 

Shall my soul be upon thine, 

With a power and with a sign. 

Though thy slumber may be deep, 

Yet thy spiiit shall not sleep ; 

There ai'e shades which will not vanish, 

There are thoughts thou canst not baniahj 

By a power to thee unknown. 

Thou canst never be alone ; 

Thou art wTapt as with a shroud, 

Thou art gather'd in a clo"d; 

And for ever shalt thou dwell 

In the spirit of this spell. 

Though thou seest me not pass by, 

Thou shalt feel me with thine eye 

As a thing that, though unseen, 

Must be near thee, and hath been , 

And when in that secret dread 

Thou hast turn'd around thy head, 

Thou shalt nuirvel I am not 

As thy shadow on the spot, 

And the power which thou dost fecJ 

Shall be what thou mast conceal 



90 



MANFRED. 



And a magic voice and verse 

Hath baptized thee with a curse; 

And a spirit oi the air 

Hath begirt thee with a snare; 

In the wnid there is a voice 

Shall forbid thee to rejoice ; 

And to thee shall Night deny 

All the quiet ol' her sKy ; 

And the day shall nave a sun. 

Which shall make thee wish it done. 

From toy false tears I did distil 

An essence which hatli strength to kill; 

From thy own heart I then did \vring 

1'he black blood in its blackest spriiig; 

From thy ow-n smile I snatch'd the snake. 

For there it coil'd as in a brake ; 

From thy own lip 1 drew the charm 

Which gave all these their chielest harm; 

In proving every poison known, 

I foiuid the strongest was thine own. 

By thy cold breast and serpent smile, 

By thy unfathom'd gulfs of guile, 

By that most seeming virtuous eye. 

By thy shut soul's hypocrisy ; 

By the perfection of thine art 

"Which pass'd for human thine own heart; 

By thy delight in others' pain. 

And by thy brotherhood ol' Cain, 

I call upon thee ! and compel 

Thyself to be thy proper Hell! 

And on thy head I pour the vial 

Which dotii devote thee to this ti'ial ; 

Nor to slumber, nor to die, 

Shall be in thy destiny ; 

Though thy death shall still seem near 

To thy wish, but as a fear; 

Lo ! the spell now works around thee, 

And the clankless chain hath bomid thee; 

O'er thy heait and brain together 

Hath the word been pass'd — now wither! 

SCENE II. 

The Mouvtarn of the Jungfrau. — Time, Moni' 
ing. — Manfred alone upon the Cliffs. 

Man. The spirits I have raised abandon me — 
The spells which I have studied baffle me — 
The remedy I reck'd of tortured me ; 
I lean no more on superb lunan aid, 
It hath no power upon the past, and for 
The future, till the past be gulfd In da'-kness 
U is not of mv search — My mother Earth I 



And th>r; fresh breaking Day, and you, ye 

Moi-r" tains, 
Why are ye beautiful? I caiinot love ye. 
And thou, the bright eye of the universe, 
That openest o^'er all, and unto all 
Art a delight — thou shin'st not on my heart 
And you, ye crags, upon whose extreme edge 
I stand, and on the torrent's brink beneath 
Behold the tall pines dwindled as to shrubs 
In dizziness of distance ; when a leap, 
A stir, a motion, even a breath, would bring 
My breast upon its rocky bosom's bed 
To rest for ever — whereibre do I pause? 
1 feel the impulse — yet I do not plunge ; 
I see the peril — yet do not recede • 
And my brain reels — and yet my foot is firm 
There is a power upon me which withholds, 
And makes it my fatality to live; 
If it be life to wear within myself 
This bairenness of spirit, and to be 
My own soul's sepulchre, for I have' ceased 
To justify my deeds unto mysell^ — 
The last infirmity of evil. Ay, 
Thou winged and cloud-cleaving minister, 

lAn eagle po^ut. 
Whose happy flight is highest into heaven, 
Well may'st thou swoop so neai- me — 1 should 
be [gone 

Thy prey, and gorge thine eaglets; thou art 
Where the eye cannot follow thee ; but thine 
Yet pierces downward, onward, or above, 
W'ith a pervading vision. — Beautiful ! 
How beautiful is all this visible world * 

How (glorious in its action and itself I 
But we, who name ourselves its sovereigns, we, 
Half dust, half deity, alike imfit 
To sink or soar, with our mix'd essence make 
A conflict of its elements, and breathe 
The breath of degi-adation and of pride, 
Contending with low wants and lofty will, 
Till om' mortality predominates, 
A d men are — what they name not to them 

selves, 
And tmst not to each other. Hark! the note, 

{The Shepherd's pipe in the distance is heard 

The natural music of the mountain reed-- 
For here the patriarchal days are not 
A pastoral fable — pipes in the liberal air, 
Mix'd with the sweet bells of the sauntering 
herd; [I iver« 

My soul would drink those echoes. — Oh, tha, 
The viewless spirit of a lovely sound, 
A living voice, a breathing haiTnony, 
A bodiies>> enjoj-ment — boin and dying 
With the blest tone which made me! 



MANP^BED. 



91 



I iter frov heU\t a Chamois Hunter, 

Chamois Hunter. Even so 

This wxy the chamois leapt : her nimble feet ! 
Have batiied me: raj' gains to-day will scarce 
liepay my break-neck travail. — What is here ? 
^Vho seems not of my trade, and yet hath reach'd 
A height which none even of oarmouataineers, 
Save our best himters, may attain : his garb 
Is goodly, his mien manly, and his air 
Proud as a freeborn peasant's, at this distance — 
I will approach him nearer. 

Man. (not perceiving the other). To be 

thus — [pines, 

Grey-hair d with anguish^, like these blasted 
Wrecks of asingle winter, barkless, branchless,* 
A blighted trunk upon a cui-sed root, 
Which but supplies a leeling to decay — 
And to be thus, eternally but thus, 
Having been otherwise ! Now fuiTow'd o'er 
With wi-inkles, plough'd by moments, not by 

yeai"3 
Auvi houis — all tortured into ages — ^hoiu-s 
Which I outlive! — Ye toppling crags of ice! 
Ve avalanches, whom a breath draws down 
In mountainous o'erwlielming, come and crush 

me! 
i hear ye momently above, beneath, 
Clash with a liequent conliict^ ; but ye pass. 
And only fall on things that still would live; 
On the young flourishing forest, or the hut 
And hamlet of the haranless villager. 

C. Hun. The mists begin to rise from up the 

valley ; 
I '11 warn him to descend, or he may chance 
To lose at once his way and life tdgethcr. 
Man. The mists boil up around the glaciers; 

clouds 
Rise curling fast beneath me, white and sul 

phury. 
Like foam from the roused oceanof deep Hell, 
Whose every wave breaks on a living shore. 
Heap d with the damn d like pebbles, — I am 

giddy.6 
C- Hun. I must approach him cautiously; 

if near, 
{ sudden step will startle him, and he 
<eem5 tottering already. 

Man, ^ Mountains have fallen, 

r eaving a gap in the clouds, and with the shock 
Rocking their Alpine brethren; filling up 
The ripe green valleys with destruction's splin- 
ters; 
Damming the rivers with a suddeTi dash. 
Which crush'd the waters into mist, and made 
■^heii fo mtains find another channel — Jims. 



Thus, in its old tge, did Mount llostnber^— 
Why stood I not beneath it? 

C. Hun. Friend ! have a care 

Your next step may be fatal ! — foi the love 
Of him who made you, stand not on thatbrink 
Man. {not hearing him). Such would hav« 

been lor me a fitting tomb; 
My bones had then been quiet in their depth 
They had not tnen been strewn upon th<! rock 
For the wind's pastime — as thus — thus the7 

shall be — 
In this one plunge. — Fai*ewell, ye opening 

heavens ! 
Look not upon me thus reproachfully — 
You were not meant for me — Earth ! tak« 

these atoms ! 
\_As Manfred is in act to spring from 

the cliff, the CuAMoisHuNTKii.'Jt'irf* 

and retains liini witli a sudden grasp 
C, Hun. Hold, madman ! — though awcarj 

of thy life, 
Stain not our piu'e vales with thy guilty blood- 
Away with me 1 will not quit my hold. 

Man. I am most sick at heart — nay, grasp 

me not — 
I am all feebleness — the moimtains whirl 
Spinning around me 1 grow blind 

What art thou ? 
C. Hun. I '11 answer that anon. — Away 

with me 

The clouds grow thicker there — now xcan 

on me — 
Place yom" foot here — here, take this staff, and 

cling [hand, 

A moment to that shrub — now give me your 
And hold fast by my girdle — softly — well — 
The Chalet will be gain'd within an hour — 
Come on, we '11 quickly find a surer Iw^ting, 
And something like a pathway, which th« 

torrent [done — 

Hath wash'd since winter. — Come, 't is bravely 

You should have been a hunter. — Follow me. 

lAs they descend the rocks with dijicuiij/ 

the scene closes. 



ACT II. 

SCENE I. 

A Cottage amongst the Bernese Alps. 

Manfred and the Chamois Huntbw 

C. Hun. No, no — ^j-et pause — thou nKU| 
not yet go forth : 
Thy mind and bodv a?e alike unfit 



MANFRED. 



To trust each other, for some hours, at least: 
Wnen thou art hetter, I will be thy guide — 
But whither? 

Man It imports not: I do know 

My route full well, and net-d no fiuther guidance. 
C. Htm. Thy garb and gait bespeak thee of 
high lineage — 
One of the many chiefs, whose castled crags 
Look o'er the lower valleys — which of these 
May call thee lord? I only know their portals , 
My way of life leads me but rarely down 
To bask by ibe huge hearths of those old halls, 
Caiousing with the vassals; but the paths. 
Which step from out our mountains to their 

doors, 
I know from childhood — which of these is thine ? 
Man. No matter, 

C Hun. Well, sir, pardon me the 

question, 
And be of better cheer. Come, taste my wine ; 
'T is r)f an ancient vintage . many a day 
'T has lliaw'd my veins among oyr glaciers, now 
Let it do thus for thine — Come pledge me fairly. 
Man. Away, away! there's blood upon the 
brim 1 
Will it tlicn never — never sink in the earth? 
C. Han. What dost thou mean? thy senses 
wander from thee. [warm stream 
Man. I say 'tis blood — my blood! thepure 
Which ran in the veins of my fathers, and in 

ours 
When we were in our youth, and had one heart, 
And loved each other as we should not love, 
And this was shed: but still it rises up. 
Colouring the clouds, that shut me out from 

heaven, 
>Vhere thou ait not — and I shall never be, 
C. Hun. Man of strange words, and some 
half-madflening sin, 
Wliich makes thee people vacancy, whate'er 
Thy dread aud sulierance be, there's comfort 

yei — 
Tlie aid of holy men, and heavenly patience — 
Man. Patience and patience! Hence — 'that 
word was made 
For brutes of burthen, not for birds of prey ; 
Preach it to mortals of a dust like thine, — 
I am not of thine order. 

C. Hun. Thanks to heaven . 

T W3uld not be of thine for the free fame 
Of William Tell ; but whatsoe'er thine ill. 
It must be borne, and these wild starts are 
useless. [I live. 

Man. Do I not bear it? — Look on me — 
C- Hoi. Thisis convulsion, and no heallliful 
life. 



Man. 1 tell ti ee, man! I have lived tnao^ 
years, 
Many long years, but they are notliing now 
To those which I mustuiunber: ages — ages- 
Space and eternity — and consciousness. 
With the tierce thirst of death — and still un. 
slaked I [age 

C. Hun. Why, on thy brow the seal of middle 
Hath scarce been set; I am thine elder lar. 
Man. Think'st thou existence doth depend 
on time? 
It doth ; but actions are our epochs: mine 
Have made my days and nights imperishable, 
Endless, and all alike, as sands on ihe shore. 
Innumerable atoms ; and one desert, 
Barren and cold, on which the wild waves'break. 
But nothing rests, save carcasses and wrecks, 
Eocks, and the salt surf weeds of bitterness, 
C Hun. Alas! he's mad — but yet I mus-t 
not leave him. [I see 

Man. I would I were — for then the things 
Would be but a distcmper'd dream. 

C. Hun. What is it 

Thai thou dost see, or think thou look'stupon? 
Man. Myself, and thee — a peasant of tho 
Alps — 
Thy humble virtues, hospitable home, 
And spirit patient, pious, proud, and ^ree ; 
Thy self-respect, grafted on innocent thoughts; 
Thy days of health, and nights of sleep; thy 

toils. 
By danger dignified, yet guiltless; hopes 
Of cheerful old age and a quiet gi"ave. 
With cross and garland over its gi-een turf, 
And thy grandchildren's love lor -epitaph; 
This do I see — and then I look within — 
It matters not — my soul was scorch'd already ! 
C- Hun. And would'st thou then exchange 

thy lot for mine? 
Man. No, friend! I would not wTong thee, 
nor exchange 
My lot with living being: I can bear — 
However wretchedly, 't is still to bear — 
In life what others could not brook to dream, 
But perish in their slumber. 

C- Hiin. And with this — 

This cautious feeling for another's pain. 
Canst thou be black with evil? — say not so. 
Can one of gentle thoughts have . wreak'd 

revenge 
Upon his enemies ? 

Man. Oh I no. no, no! [me— 

My injuries came dov/n on those who loved 
On those whom I best loved : J never queli'd 
An enemy, save in myjust defence — 
But rav embrace wa.s fatal ! 



MANFRED. 



93 



C. Hur^ Heaven give thee rest! 

And penilcnci restore thee to thyself; 
Mv i)ravers shtdl be for thee. 

-Tjj^^' I need them not, 

BtU can endure thy pity. I depavt— 

T ib time— lave well '.—Here 's gi)Kl, and thanks 

for thee — 
j^^ words— it is thy due.— Follow me not— 
I kiinw inv pat! 1— the mountain peril 's past — 
And once' again, I chai-ge thcc^ follow notl 

lExit Manfred. 



SCENE II. 

A lower Valley in the Alps.— A Cataract. 

Enter Manfred 
It is not noon— the sunhow's rays' still arch 
The torrent with the many hues of heaven, 
And roll the sheeted silver's waving column 
O'er the crag's headlong pei-pendicular, 
And fling its lines of foaming light along 
And to and fro, like the pale courser s tail, 
The Giant steed, to be bestrode by Death, 
As told in the ApocalypseS. No eyes 
But mine now drink this sight ot loveliness; 
' should be sole in this sweet solitude, 
Knd with the Spirit of the place div^^e 
The homage of these waters.— I will call her 
[Manfred takes some of the water into 
the palm of his hand, and JInujs tt in 
the air,mu(terinrithe adjuration. After 
a pause, the Witch of the Alps 
rises beneath the arch of the sunbow 
of the torrent. 
Beautiful Spirit! with thy hair of light, 
And dazzling eyes of glory, in whose lorm ; 
The chai-ms of eui-Lh's least mortal daughters^ 

glow 
To an unearthly stature, in an essence . 
Of purer elements ; while the hues of yoiith,— • 
Carnation'd like a sleeping infant's cheek, 
Rock'd bv the beating of her mother s heart, 
Or the ros'e tints, which summer's twilight leaves 
Upon the loity glaciers virgin sno^^•, 
T he blushofcaith,embracing with her heaven,— 
TinKc thv celestial aspect, and make tame ^ ; 
The'beauties of the sunbow which bends o er 

thee. , 

Beautiful Spirit! in thy calm clear brow, 
Wherein is glass'd serenity of soul. 
Which of itself shows immortality, 
I read that thou wilt pardon to a Son 
Of Earth, whom the abstruser powers permit 
M times to (commune with them— if that he 



Avail him \! his spells— to call thee thus, 
And ija/.e on thee a moment 

jyilch. Son of Earth ! 

I know thee, and the powvjrs which give thee 

power ; 
I know thee for a man of many thoughts, 
And deeds of g"od and ill, extreme in both, 
Fatal and fated in thy suffenngs, 
1 have expected this — what would'st thou with 
■ me? [further 

Man. To look upon thy beauty — nothing 
The face of the earth hathmaddcii'dme, und I 
Take refuge in her mysteries, and pierce 
To the abodes of those v.-ho govern her— 
But thev can nothing aid me. I have sought 
From them what they could not bestow, and now 
I search no fuiaher. 

Witch. What could be the quest 

Which is not in the power of the most pow^-rful. 
The rulers of the invisible? 

Man. A boon; _ 

But why should I repeal it? 'twere m vam. 
Witch. I know not that; let thy lips utter it. 
Man. Well, though it torture me, 'tis but 
the same ; [upwar.3s 

My pang shall find a voice. From my youUi 
My spirU walk'd not with the souls ol men, 
Nor look'd upon the earth with human eyes; 
The thirst ot their ambition was not mine, 
The aim of their existence was not mJne; 
My joy s,mygriefs,my passions, and my powers, 
Made' me a stranger; though I wore the form, 
I had no sympathy with breathing flesh. 
Nor midst 'the creatures of clay that girded me 

Was there but one who but of her anon. 

I said, with men, and with the thoughts of men, 
I held but slight communion ; but instead, 
My jov was in the Wilderness, to breathe 
The difficult air of the iced mountain's top, 
: Wliere the birds dare not build, nor insect'i 
wing 
Flit o'er the hcrbless granite ; or to plunge 
Into the torrent, and to roll along 
On the swift whirl of the new breaking wave 
Of river-stream, or ocean, in their flow. 
In these mv earlv strength exulted; or 
To follow through the night the moving moon. 
The stars and their development; or catch 
The dazzling lightnings tiUiny eyes grew dim; 
Or to look, list'ning, on the scatter'd leaves, 
While Autumn winds were at their evening 

song. 
These were mv pastimes, and to be alon€ ; 
For if the beings, of whom I was one- 
Hating to be so,— cross'd me in ray path, 
I felt mvself degraded hack to them, 



u 



MANFRED. 



And was ali f laj- ag.\'in. And then I dived, 
In Tiy lone wanderings, to the caves of death, 
Seari'.h'ng its cause in its effect; and drew 
From wither'd bones, and skulls, and heap'd 

up dust, 
CiHclusions most forbidden. Then I pass'd 
The nights ol' years in sciences untaught, 
Save in the old time and with time and toil, 
And ten'ible ordeal, and such penance 
As in itself hath power upon the air, 
And spirits that do compass air and earth, 
Space, and the peopled infinite, I made 
Mine eyes familiar witn F^ternity, 
Such as, before me, did the Magi, and 
He who from out their fountain dwellings 

raised 
Eros and Anteros^, at Gadara, 
As T do thee ; — and with my knowledge grew 
The thirst of knowledge, and the power and 

joy 

Of this most bright intelligence, tmtil,— — 
Witch. Proceed. 
. Man. Oh ! I but thus prolong'd my 

words, 
Boasting these idle attributes, because 
As I approach the core of my heart s grief— 
But to my task. I have not named to thee 
F;ither or mothei-, mistress, friend, or being. 
With whom I wore the chain of human ties ; 
If I had such, they seem'd not such to me^ 

y^et there was one 

Witch. Spare not thyself — proceed. 

Man. She was like me in lineaments — her 

eyes, 
Her hair, her features, all, to the very tone 
Even of lier voice, they said were like to mine; 
But soften'd all, and temper'd into beauty: 
She had the same lone thoughts and wanderings, 
The quest of hidden knowledge, and a mind 
To comprehend the universe : nor these 
Alone, Inilwith them gentler powers than mine, 
Pity, and smiles, and tears — which I had not; 
And tenderness — but that I had for her; 
Humility — and that I ne\'er had. 
Her faults were mine — her virtues were her 

own — 
I loved her, and destroy'd l.er! 

Witch. With tliy hand ? 

Man. Not with my hand, but heart — which 

broke her heart — 
It gazed on mine, and withcr'd. T have shed 
Blood, but not hers — and yet hor blood was 

shed — 
) oHw — and could not stanch it 

U'(ch. And for this — 

A bei'ig of the race thou dost despise. 



The order which thine own vould riic aboVC, 
Mingling with us and ours, thou dost forego 
The gifts of our great knowledge,and shrink's 

back 
To recreant mortali ty Away ! 

Mlui. Daughter of Air! I tell thee sinci 
that hour — 
ButAVords are breath — look on me in my sleep, 
Orwatchmywatchings — ("Jomeand sit by me, 
My solitude is solitude no more. 
But peopled with the Furies; — 1 lave gnash'd 
My teeth in darkness till rctm-ning mom, 
Then cursed myself till sunset; — I have pray'd 
For madness as a blessing — 'tis denied me. 
I have affronted death — but in the war 
Of elements the waters shrunk from me. 
And fatal things pass'd harmless — the cold hand 
Of an all-pitiless demon held me back, 
Back by a single hair, which would not break 
In fantasy, imagination, all 
The affluence of my soul — which one day was 
A Crcesus in creation — I plunged deep. 
But, like an ebbing wave, it dash'd me back 
Into the gulf of my unfaihom'd thought. 
I plunged amidst mankind — Forget fulness 
I sought in all, save where "tis to be found, 
And that I have to learn — my sciences, 
My long pursued and superhuman art, 
Is mortal h^re — I dwell in my despair — 
And live — and live for ever. 

Witch. It may be 

That can aid thee. 

Man. To do this thy powei 

Must wake the dead, or lay me low with then;. 
Do so — in any shape — in any hour — 
With any torture — so it be the last. [thoi. 

Witch. That is not in my province ; but il 
Wilt swear obedience to my will, and do 
My bidding, it may help thee to thy wishes. 

Man. I will not swear — Obey ! and whomf 
the spirits 
Whose presence I command, and be theslavf 
Of those who served me — Never! 

TVitch. Is this all? 

Has thou no gentler answer? — Yet bethinJ 

thee. 
And pause ere thou rejcctest. 

Man. I have said it 

Witch. Enough! — I may retire then — sjy 

Man. Retire 

iThe Witch disappean 

Man. (.alone). We are the fools of time uii« 
terror: Days 
Steal on us and steal from us ; yet we live. 
Loathing our life, and dreading still to die. 
In dl the diys of this v"«tested yokj — 



MANFRED. 



95 



This vital weight upon the strugghng neait. 
Which sinks with sorrow, or beats quick with 

pain, 
Or joy tliat ends in agony or faintness— 
In all the duys of past and future, for 
In life there is no present, we can number 
How few — hoAvless than few — wherein the soul 
Forbears to pant for death, and yet draws back 
As from a stream in winter, though the chill 
Be but a moment's. 1 have one resoui'ce 
Still in my science — I can call the dead, 
And ask them what it is we dread to be: 
The sternest answer can but be the Grave, 
And that is notliing — if they answer not — 
The buried Prophet answer 'd to the Plag 
Of Endor; and the Spartan Monarch drew 
From the Byzantine maid's unsleeping spirit 
An answer and his destiny — he slev 
That which he loved, unknowing wha: he slew 
And died unpardon'd — though he call'd in aid 
The Phyxian Jove, and in Phigalia roused 
The Arcadian Evocators to compel 
The indignant shadow to depose her wrath, 
Or fix her term of vengeance — she replied 
In words of dubious import, but fulfill'd.l* 
If I had never lived, that which I love 
Had still been living;, had I never loved, 
That which I love would still be beautiful- 
Happy and giving happiness. What is she? 
What is she now ? — a sutferer for my sins — 
A thing I dare not think upon — or nothing. 
Within few hours I shall not call in vain — 
Yet in this hour I dread the thing I dare : 
Until this hour I never shrunk to gaze 
On spirit, good or evil — now I tremble, 
And feel a strange cold thaw upon my heart. 
But I can act even what I most abhor. 
And champion human fears. — The night ap- 

proaches [Exit. 



SCENE III. 

The Summit of the Jungfrau Mountain. 

Enter First Destiny. 
Themoon is rising broad, and round, and bright; 
And here on snows, where never human foot 
Of common mortal trod, we nightly tread, 
And leave no traces ; o'er the savage sea, 
The glassy ocean of the mountain ice. 
We skim its rugged breakers, which put on 
The aspect of a tumbling tempest's foam, 
frozen in a nioment^i — a dead whirlpool's 

image: 
And this most sleep fantastic pinnacle. 



The fretwork of some eailhquake —where the 

clouds 
Pause to repose themselves in passing by^ 
Is sacred to our revels, or our vigils ; 
Here do I wail my sisters, on our way 
To tlie Hall ol' Arimanes, for to-night 
Is our great festiv^il — 'tis strange they v;ouit 

not. 



A Voice without, sitiging. 

The Captive Usurper, 

Hin-l'd down from the throne, 

Lay buried in torpor, 
Forgotten and lone ; 

I broke through his slumbers, 
I shiver'd his chain, 

I leagued him with numbers — 

He's Tyrant again! [care^ 

With the blood of a million he'll answer my 
With a nation's destruction — his flight and de- 
spair. 

Second Voice, without. 
The ship sail'd on, the ship sail'd fast. 
But I left not a sail, and I left not a mast ; 
There is not a plank of the hull or the deck, 
And there is not a wretch to lament o'er hi» 
^vTeck ; [hair, 

.Save one, whom I held, as he swam, by th« 
-And he was a subject well worthy my care; 
A traitor on land, and a pirate at sea — 
But I saved him to wreak fuiiher havoc for me. 

FiKST Destiny, answering. 

The city lies sleeping; 

The morn, to deplore it. 
May dawn on it weeping- 

Sullenly, slowly. 
The black plague flew o'er it- 
Thousands lie lowly; 
Tens of thousands shall perish 

The living shall fly from 
The sick they shall cherish ; 

But nothing can vanquish 
The touch that they die frcm. 

Sorrow and anguish, 
And evil and dread, 

Envelope a nation— 
The blest are the dead. 
Who see not the sight 

Of their own desolation— 
This work of a night — 
This wireck of a realm — this deed of my doir 
Fur agca I 'vc done, and shall stil! be reneti 



96 



MANFRED. 



EnUf the Second ana Third Destinies. With aU its infinite of agonies— 

And Lis the spirit of whatcvci :s\ 



The Three 

Oar hands contain the hearts of men. 
Our footsteps are their graves; 

We only give to take again 
The spnits of our slaves ! 

First Des. Welcome! — Where's Nemesis? 
SiJond Des. At some great work ; 

But what I know not, for my hands were full. 
Third Des. Behold she cometh. 

Enter Nemesis. 

First Des. Say, where hast thou been ? 

My sisters and thyself are slow to-night. 

Nem. I was detain'd repairing shatter'd 
thrones, 
Marrying fools, restoring dynasties, 
Avenging men upon their enemies, 
And making them repent their own revenge ; 
Goading the wise to madness; from the dull 
Shaping out oracles to ruie the world 
A-fresh, lor they were waxing oat of date, 
A.nd mortals dared to ponder for themselves. 
To weigh kings in the balance, and to speak 
Of freedom, the forbidden fruit. — Away! 
We have outstay'd the hour — mount we our 
clouds I [Exeunt. 



SCENE IV. 

The Hall of Arimanes — Arimanfs on hie 
Throne, a Globe of Fire, surrounded by the 
Spirits. 

Hymn of the Sri kits. 

Hfail to our Master ! — Prince of Earth and Air ! 

Who walks the clouds and waters — in his 
hand 
The sceptre of the elements, which tear 

Themselves to chaos a. Ais high command ! 
He breathelh — and a tempest shakes the sea ; . 

He speaketh — and the clouds reply in 
thunder; 
He gazeth — from his glance the sunbeams flee ; 

He moveth — earthquakes rend the world 
asunder. 
Beneath his footsteps the volcanoes rise ; 

His shadow is the Pestilence ; his path 
The comets herald through the crackhng skies ; 

And planets turn to ashes at his wrath. 
To him War offers daily sacrifii-:e; 

To bim Death pays his tribue; Life is Uis 



Enter the Destinies and Nemesis. 

First Des Glory to Arimares! outheoarlt 
His power increaseth — both my sisters did 
His bidding, nor did I neglect my duty ! 

0?cond Des. Glory to Arimanes ! we who bow 
The necks of men, bow down before his thron?. ! 

Third Des. Glory to Arimanes! we await 
His nod ! 

Nem. Sovereign of Sovereigns! wearethinCi 
And all that liveth, more or less, is ours. 
And most things wholly so; still to increase 
Our power, increasing thine, demands our car*. 
And we are vigilant — Thy late commands 
Have been fulhlld to the utmost. 



E titer Manfred. 

A Spirit. What is here f 

A mortal ! — Thou most rash and fatal wretch, 
Bow down and worship ' 

Second Spirit. I do know the man— 

A Magian of great power, and feariul skill ! 

Third Spirit. Bow down and worship, 
slave ! — What, know'st thou not 
Thine and our Sovereign ? — Tremble, and obey 

AU the Spirits. Prostrate thyself, and thy 

e condemned clay, 

Child of the Eai-th ! or dread the worst. 

Man. I know it : 

And yet ye see I kneel not. 

Fourth Spirit. ' T will be taught thee 

Man. "£ is taught already ; — many a night 
on the earth, 
On the bare giound, have I bow'd down my 
face, [known 

A.nd strew'd my head with ashes; I ba'»« 
The fulness of humiliation, for 
1 sunk before my vain despair, and knelt 
To my own desolation. 

Fifth Spirit. Dost thou dare 

Rel'use to Arimanes on his throne 
What the whole earth accords, beholding acH 
The terror of his Glory ? — Crouch ! I say. 

Man. Bid him bow down to that which » 
above him, 
The overruling Infinite — the Maker 
Who made him not for worship — let hiia 

kneel. 
And we will kneel together. 

The Spirits. Crush the worm ♦ 

Tear lira in pieces I — 



MANFRED. 



97 



First Dea. Ilence! A vaunt! — he'n mine, 
Prince of the Powers invisible I Tliis man 
Is of no comraou oniei', as his port 
And presence here denote ; his sufferings 
Have been of an immort.il nature, like [will, 
Our own; his knowledge, and his powers and 
As far as is corapatiOle ^vith clay, [such 

Which clogs the ethereal essence, have been 
As clay hath seldom bonie; his aspirations 
Have been beyond the dwellers of the earth, 
And they have only taughthini what we know — 
That knowledge is not happiness, and science 
But an exchange of ignorance for that 
Which is another kind of ignorance. 
This is not all — the passions, attributes 
Of eai'th and heaven, from which no power, 

nor being, 
Nor breath from the worm upwards is exempt, 
Have pierced his heart; and in their conse- 
quence 
Made him a thing, which I, who pity not, 
Vet pardon those Avho pity. He is mine. 
And thine, it may be — be it so, or not, 
No other Spirit in this region hath 
A soul like his — or power upon his soul. 

Nem. \Miat doth he here then ? 

First Zfe?. Let him answer that. 

Man. Ye know what I have known; and 
\\'ithout power 
I could not be amongst ye : but there are 
Powers deeper still beyond — I come in quest 
Of such, to answer unto what I seek. 

Nan. What would'st thou ? 

Man. Thou canst not reply to me. 

Call up the dead — my question is for them. 

Nem. Great Arimanes. doth thy will avouch 
The wishes of this mortal.' 

Ari. Yea. 

Ncm. Whom would'st thoa 

Unehamel? 

Man. One without a tomb — call up 
A^taite. 

Nemesis. 
SLadow! or Spirit! 
Whatever thou art, 
I Which still doth inherit 

The whole or a part 
Of the form of thy birth, 
' Of the mould of thy clay, 

I Which return'd to the earth, 

Re-appear to the day ! 
Bear what thou borest. 

The heart and the fonn. 

And the aspect thou wores. 

Redeem fiom the worm. 



Appear ! — Ajipear ! — Appear ? 
Who sent thee there requires thee here! 
lThePha7ito7nofAsT A.RTE rises andftands 
in the midst. 
Man. Can this be death? there's bloow 
upon her cheek; 
But now I see it is no living hue 
But a strange hectic — like the unnatural red 
Which Autumn plants upon theperish'd leaf. 
It is the same! Oh, God! that I should drea<l 
To look upon the same — Astarte ! — No, 
I cannot speak to her — but bid her speak- • 
Forgive me or condemn me. 

Nemesis. 

By the power which hath broken 
The gi-ave which enthrall'd thee, 

Speak to him who hath spoken, 
Or those who have call'd thee ! 

Man. She is silent,, 

And in that silence I am more than answer 'd. 

Nem. My power extends no further. Princo 
of air ! 
It rests with thee alone — command her voice. 

Ari. Spirit — obey this sceptre ! 

Nem. Silent still i 

She is not of our order, but belongs 
To the other powers. Mortal ! thy quest is vain, 
And we are baffled also. 

Man. Hear me, hear me — 

Astarte I my beloved ! speak to me : 
I have so much endured — so much endure— 
Look on me ! the grave hath not changed thee 

more 
Than I am changed for thee. Thou lovedst me 
Too much, as I loved thee : we were not made 
To torture thus each other, though it were 
The deadliest sin to love as we have loved. 
Say that thou loath" st me not — that I do hear 
This punishment for both — that thou wilt be 
One of the blessed — and that I shall die ; 
For hitherto all hateful things conspire 
To bind me in existence — in a life 
Which makes me shrink from immortality— 
A future like the past. I cannot rePt. 
I know not what I ask, nor what I seek : 
'I feel but what thou art — and what I am , 
And I would hear yet once before I perish 
The voice which was my music- -Speak to me ' 
For I have call'd on thee in the siill night, 
Startled the slinr.bering birds from the hush''! 
boughs, fcavia 

And woke the mountain wolves, and made the 
Acquainted with thy vainly echoed name. 



98 



MANFRED. 



1 



Which answer'd me — many things answer d 

me — 
Spirits and men — but thou wert silent all. 
Yet speak to me ! I have outwatch'd the stars. 
And gazed o'er heaven in vain in search of thee. 
Speak to me! I have wander'd o'er the earth, 
Aiid never found thj likeness — Speak to me ! 
Look on the fiends around — they feel for me: 
I fear them not, and feel for thee alone — • 
Speak to me ! tliough it be in vsTath ; — but say — 
I reck not what — but let me hear thee once— 
This once — once more ! 

Phantom of Astarte. Manfred ! 

Man. Say on, say on— 

i. live but in the sound — it is thy voice! 

Phan. Manfred! To-morrow ends thine 
earthly iUs. 
Farewell! 

Man. Yet one word more — am I forgiven? 

Phan. Farewell! 

Man. Say, shall we meet again ? 

Phan. Farewell ! [me. 

Man. One word for mercy ! Say, thoulovest 

Phan. Manfred! 

rr/te Spirit of Astarte disappears.^^ 

Nem. She 's gone, and will not be 

recall'd; 
Her words will be fulfill'd. Retnm to the earth. 

A Spirit. He is convulsed — This is to be a 
mortal. 
And seek the things beyond mortality. 

Anotlier Spirit. Yet, see, h^raastei'eth him- 
self, and makes 
His torture tiibutary to his will. 
Had he been one of lis, he woidd have made 
An awful spirit 

Nem. Hast thou further question 

Of our great sovereign, or his worshippers? 

Man. None. 

Nem. Then for a time farewell. 

Man. Wemeettlien! Where? On the earth?— 
Even as thou wilt; and for the grace accorded 
1 DOW depait a debtor. Fare ye well! 

[_Exit Manfbed. 
{^Scene closes) 



ACT III. 

SCENE I. 
A Hall in the Castle of Manfred. 
Manfked and Hekman. 
Man. What is the hour? 
Her. It wants btit one till simset, 

And promises a lovely twilight 



Man. Say, 

Are all things so d'sposed of in the tower 
As I directed? 

Her. All, my lord, are leady: 

Here is the key and casket 

Man. It is well : 

Thou may'st retire. ' \_Exit Hermaw, 

Man. {alone). There is a calm upon me— 
Inexphcable stillness ! which till now 
Did not belong to what I knew of life. 
If that I did not know philosophy 
To be of all our vanities the motliest, 
The merest word that ever fool'd the ear 
From out the schoolman's jargon, I should deem 
The golden secret, the sought " Kalon," found, 
And seated in my soul. It will not last, 
But it is well to have knowTi it, though but once 
It hath enlarged my thoughts with a new sensa 
And I withii. «ny tablets would note down 
That there is such a feeling. Who is there? 

Re-enter Herman. 
Her. My lord, the abbotof St.Maurice craves 
To greet your presence. 

Enter the Abbot op St. Maurice. 

Abbot. Peace be -vv-ith Count Mfenfred 

Man. Thanks, holy father! welcome to these 
walls; 
Thy presence honom-s them, and blesseth those 
Who dwell within them. 

Abbot. Would it were so, Count !— 

But I would fain confer with thee alone. 

Man. Herman, retire, — What would 'my 
reverend guest? 

Abbot. Thus, without prelude: — Age and 
zeal, my office. 
And good intent, must plead my privilege ; 
Our near, though not acquainted -neighbour- 
hood. 
May also be my herald. Rumours strange. 
And of unholy nature, are abroad. 
And busy with thy name; a noble name 
For centuries: may he who bears it now 
Transmit it imimpau-'d I 

Man. Proceed, — I listen. 

Abbot. 'Tis said thou boldest converse irtlfc 
the things 
Which are forbidden to the search of man; 
That with the dwellers of the dark abodes. 
The many evil and unheavcnly spirits 
Which walk the valley of the shade of death 
Thou communest; I know that with mankind, 
I'hy fellows in creation, thou dost rarely 
Exchange thy thoughts, and tbat thy solitude 
Is as an anchorite's were it but holy. 



IVIANFRED. 



99 



Aran. And what are they who do avouch 

these things? 
Abbot. My pious brethrer— the scared pea- 
santrv — 
Even thy own 'vassals— wh-: do look on thee 
With most unquiet eyes. Thy life's in penl. 
Man. Take it. 

Abbot. I come to save, and not destroy — 
I would not pry into thy secret soul ; 
But if these things he sooth, there still is time 
For peniience and pity : reconcile thee 
With the true church, and thi-ough the church 
to heaven. C^ ^r 

Man. I hear thee. This is my reply: whaU 
I may have been, or am, doth rest between 
Heaven and myself.— I shall not choose a 

mortal 
To be my mediator. Have I sinn'd 
Against your ordinances? prove and punish! 
Abbot. My sou! I did not speak of punish- 
ment, 
But penitence and pardon; — ^with thyself 
The choice of such remains— and for the last, 
Our iustitulions and our sUong belief [sin 
Have given me power to smooth the path from 
To higher hope and better thoughts ; th« first 
[ leave to heaven,— " Vengeance is mine 

alone I " 
So saith the Lord, and with all humbleness 
His servant echoes back the awful word. 
Man. Old man ! there is no power in holy 
men. 
Nor charm in prayer— nor purifying fonn 
Of penitence — nor outward look — nor fast— 
Nor agony — nor, gi-eater than all these, 
The innate tortures of that deep despair, 
Which is remorse without the fear of hell, 
But all in all sufficient to itself 
Would make a hell of heaven — car. exorcise 
From out the unbounded spirit, the quick sense 
Of itso\ra sins, wTongs, sufferance,and revenge 
Upon itself; there is no future pang 
Can deal that justice on the selfcondemn'd 
He deals on his own soui. 

Abbot. All this is well; 

For this will pass away, and be succeeded 
By an auspicious hope, which shall look up 
With calm assurance to that blessed place, 
Which all ^^■ho seek may win, whatever be 
Their earthly eiTors, so they be atoned : 
And the commencement of atonement is 
The sense of its necessity. — Say on — 
And all our chui ch can teach thee shall be 

ta I'lht ; 
And all V e can absolve thee shall be par- 
don'd. 



Man. When Rome's sixth emperorW «rM 

near his last, 
The victim of a self-inflicted wound. 
To shun the torments of a public death 
From senates once his slaves, a ceitain soldier, 
With show of loyal pity, would have stanch'd 
The gushing throat with his officious robe ; 
The dying Roman thrust him back, and said- 
Some empire still in his expiring glance, 
" It is too late — is this fidelity?" 
Abbot. And v^hat of this ? 
Man. I answer with the Eomaa— 

" It is too late 1 " 

Abbot. It never can be so. 

To reconcile thyself with thy own soul, 
And thy own soul with heaven. Hast thou no 

hope? 
'T is strange — even those who do despair above, 
Yet shape themselves some fantasy on earth, 
To which frail twig they cling, like drowning 
men. [visions 

Man. Ay— father! I have had those earthly 
And noble aspirations in my youth, 
To make my ow i the mind of other men. 
The enlightener of nations ; and to rise 
I knew not whither— it might be to fall; 
But lall, even as the mountain-cataract. 
Which having leapt from its more dazzling 

height, 
Even in the foaming strength of its abyss, 
(Which casts up misty columns that become 
Clouds raining from the re-ascended skies,) 
Lies low but mighty still. — But this is past, 
Mv thoughts mistook themselves. 

Abbot. And wherefore so? 

Man. I could not tame my nature down, 
for he 
Must serve who fain would sway — and soothe 

— and sue — 
And watch all time— and pry into all place— 
And be a living lie — who would become 
A mighty thing amongst the ipean, and such 
The mass are; I disdain'd to mingle with 
A herd, though to be leader — and of wolves. 
The lion is alone, and so am I. 

Abbot. And why not live and act with other 
men ? [I'fe J 

Man. Because my nature was averse from 
And yet not cruel ; for I would not make, 
But find a desolation:— like the wind, 
Tl « red-hot breath of the most lone simoom, 
Wi.ich dwells but in the desert, and sweeps oei 
The baiTcn sands which bear no shrubs to blast 
And revels o'er their wild and arid waves. 
And seeketh not, so that it is not sought. 
But being met is deadly ; such hatb been 
H 2 



100 



MiltNFRED 



The course 04 my existence; but there came 
Tilings in my path which are no more. 

Abbot. Alas ! 

I 'gin to fear that thou art past all aid 
From me and from my calling ; yet so young, 
I still would 

Man. Look on me ! there is an order 
Of mortals on the earth, w ho do become 
Old in their youth, and die ere midille age, 
Without the violence of v/arlike death ; 
Some perishing of pleasure — some of study- 
Some wo; n with toil — some of mere weariness — 
Some of disease — and some insanity — '^ 
And some of wither'd, or of broken hearts; 
For this last is a malady which slays 
More than are number'd in the lists of Fate, 
Taking all shapes, and bearing many names. 
Look upon me ! for even of all these things 
Have I partaken ; and of all these things, 
One were enough ; then wouiler not that I 
Am what I am, but that I ever wa«^ 
Or having been, that I am still on earth. 

Abbot. Yet, heai" me still — 

Ma}i. Old man ! I do respect 

Thine order, and revere thine years; I deem 
Thy purpose pious, but it is in vain: 
Think me not churlish; I would spare thyself. 
Far more than me, in shunning at this time 
All further colloquy — and so — farewell. '5 

\_E.Tit Manfred. 

Abbot. This should have been a nobler crea- 
ture ;1S he 
Hath all the energy which would liave made 
A goo<lly frame of glorious elements, 
H>i<] they been wisely mingled; as it is, 
Bt la an awiui chaos — light and darkness — 
An^ mind and dust — and passions and pure 

thoughts, 
Mix'd and contending without end or order. 
All dormant or destructive ; he will peiish, 
And yet he must not ; I will try once more 
For such are worth redemption ; and my duty 
Is to dare all things fm- a righteous end. 
rU follow him — but cau "iously, though surely. 
lExii Abbot. 



J 



SCENE II. 

Another Chamber. 

Manfred and merman. 

Her. My lord, you bade me v/ail on you at 
sunset : 
He sinks Inhind \hf moMniai»J* 



Man. Doth he so 

I will look on hira. 
iMkHTREV advaricesto theWimlow o/iheHaU 

Glorious Orb! the idol 
Of early nature, and the vigorous race 
Of undiseased mankind, the giant sons'' 
Of the embrace of angels, with a sex 
More beautiful than they, which did draw dow 
The erring spirits, who can ne'er return. — 
Most glorious orb ! that weit a worship, ero 
The mystery of thy making was reveal'd ! 
Thou earliest minister of the Almighty, 
Which gladden'd on their mountain tops, ibi 

hearts 
Of the Chaldean shepherds, till they pour'd 
Themselves in orisons ! Thou material God' 
And representative of the Unknown — 
Who chose thee for his shadow ! Thou chie^ 

star ! 
Centre of many stars! which mak'st our earth 
Endurable, and temperest the hues 
And hearts of all who walk within thy rays! 
Sire of the seasons I Monarch of the climes, 
And those who dwell in them ! for near or far, 
Our inborn spirits have a tint of thee. 
Even as om* outward aspects; — thou dost rise, 
And shine, and set in glory. Fare thee v/ell: 
I ne'er shall see thee more. Asmy firstglanco 
Of love and wonder was for thee, then take 
My latest look : thou wilt not beam on one 
To whom the gifts of life and warmth have been 
Of a more fatal nature. He is gone : 
I follow. lExU Manfred. 

SCENE III. 

The Mountains — The Caatle of Manfred at 
soine distance — A Terrace before a Tower. 

—Time, Twilight. 

Herman, Manuel, and other Dependants 
0/ Manfred. 

Her. 'T is strange enough ; night after night; 
I'oT years. 
He hath pursued long vigils in this tower. 
Without a witness. I have been within it,— 
So have we all been oft-times: but from it, 
Or its contents, it were impossible 
To draw conclusions absolute, of aught 
His studies tend to. To be sure there is 
Ore chamber where none entei" I would giv* 
Tno fee of what I have to come these three year* 
To pore irpon its mysteries. 

Manuel. 'T were dangerous ; 

Conteiit thyself with what thou know'st al 
rvu4 



MANURED. 



101 



Htr. All ! Manuel ! thou art elderly and wise, 
And couldst say much ; thou hast dwelt within 

the castle — • 
How many years is"t? 

Manuel. Ere Count Manfred's birth, 

1 served his father, whom he nought resembles. 

Her. There be more sons in likepredicamenl. 
Bat wherein do they dilier? 

Mamiel. I speak not 

Of features or of form, but mind and habits ; 
Count Sigismuud wjyg proud, — but gay and 

free, — 
A warrior and a reveller; he dwelt not 
\Vith books and solituile, nor made the night 
A gloomy vigil, but a festal time, 
MeiTier than day; he ditl not walk the rocks 
And forests like a wolf, nor turn aside 
From men and their delights. 

Her. Beshrew the hour, 

B ul those were jocund times ! I would that such 
Would visit the old walls again ; they look 
As if they had forgotten them. 

Manuel. These walls 

Must change their chieftain first. Oh ! I have 

seen 
Some strange things in them, Hei-man. 

Her. Come, be friendly; 

Relate me some to while away our watch : 
J 've heard thee darkly speak of an event 
\^''hich happen'd hereabouts, by this same tower. 

Manuel. That was a night indeed ! I do re- 
member 
Twas twilight, as it may be now, and such 
Another evening ; — yon red cloud, which rests 
On Kighcr's pinnacle, so rested then, — 
So like that it might be the same; the wind 
Was faint and gusty, and the mountain snows 
Began to glitter with the climbing moon ; 
Count Manfred was, as now, within his tower, — 
How occupied, we knew not, but v/ith him 
The sole companion of his w^anderings 
And watchings — hcr,whom of all earthly tilings 
That lived, the only thing he seem'dtolove,-r- 
As he, indeed, by blood was bound to do, 

The Lady Astaite, his 

, Hush! who comes herp? 



Enter the Abbqt. 

Ahhot. Where is your master ? 

Her. Yonder, in the tower. 

Abbot. I must speaR with him. 

Manuel. 'T is impossible; 

He is most private, and must not be thus 
Intruded on. 



Abbot. Upon myself I uike 

The forfeit of my fault, if fault there be — 
But I must see Lini. 

Her. Thou hast seen him ouca 

This eve already. 

Abbot. Hennan! I command thee, 

Knock, and apprize the Count of my approach. 

Her. "\^'e dare not. 

Abbot. Then it seems I must be herald 
Of my own puqjose. 

Manuel. Eeverend father, stop- - 

I pr.vy you pause. 

Abbot. W'hy so ? 

Manuel. But step this way. 

And I will tell you fuither. iExetttth 



SCENE IV. 

Interior of the Tower. 

Manfred alone. 
The stars are forth, the moon above the top* 
Of the snow-shilling mountains. — Beautiful! 
I linger yet with Nature, for the night * 
Hath been to me a more familiar face 
Than that of man ; and in her stany shade 
Of dim and solitary loveliness, 
I learn'd the language of another world. 
I do remember me, that in my y<nith, 
When I was wandering, — upon such a niga* 
I stood within the Coliseum's wall,'8 
Midst the chief relics of almighty Rome ; 
The trees wliich grew along the broken arches 
Waved dark in the blue midnight, and the slara 
Shone through the rents of ruin; from afar 
The watchdog bay'd beyond the Tiber ; and 
More near I'rom out the Caesars' palace came 
The owl's long Ci'y, and, interruptedly, 
Of distant ceutinels tlie fitful song 
Begun and died upon the gentle wind. 
Some cypresses beyond the time-worn breach 
Appear'd to skirt the horizon, yet tliey stood 
Within a bowshot — where the Cajsars dwelt. 
And dwell the tuneless birds of night, amidst 
A grove which springs through levell'd battlo 

ments, 
And tAvines its roots with the imperial heartl* 
Ivy usm-ps the laurel's place of growth; — 
But the gladiators' bloody Circus stands 
A noble wreck in ruinous perfection I [hall\ 
While Caisar's chambers, and the Augustan 
Grovel on earth in indistinct decay. — 
And thou didst shine, thou rolling moon, upor 
All this, and cast a wide and tender light, 
Which soften'd down the hoar austerity 



:o2 



MANFRED. 



Of nigged desolation, and fiU'd up, 
As 'twere anew, the gaps of centuries; 
Leaving that beautiful which still was so. 
And making that which was not, till the place 
Became religion, and the heart ran o'er 
With silent worship of the gi-eat of old * — 
The dead, hut sceptred sovereigns, who still rule 
Our spirits from their urns. — 

'T was such a night ! 
T is strange that I recall it at this time ; 
But I have found our thoughts take wildest flight 
Even at the moment when they should array 
Themselves in pensive order. 

Enter the Abbot 

Abbot. My good lord ! 

[ crave a second grace for this approc^ch; 
But yet let not my humble zeal offend 
By its abruptness — all it hath of ill 
Recoils on me; its good in the effect 
May light upon your head — could I say heart — 
Could I touch that, with words or prayers, I 

should 
Recall a noble spirit which hath wander'd ; 
But is not yet all lost. 

Man. Thou know'st me nci; 

My days are number 'd, and my deeds recorded: 
Retire, or 't will be dangerous — Away ! 

Abbot. Thou dost not mean to menace me? 

Man. Not I; 

T SLTipiy tell thee peril is at hand, 
And would preserve thee. 

Abbot. WTiat dost mean? 

Man. Look there ! 

What dost thou see ? 

Abbot. Nothing. 

Man. Look there, I say 

And stedfastly; — now tell me what thou seest. 

Abbot. That which should shake me, — but 
I fear it not — 
I see a dusk and awful figure rise. 
Like an infernal god, from out the earth ; 
His face wTapt in a mantle, and his fonu 
Robed as with angry clouds : he stands between 
Thyself and me — but I do fear him not. 

Man. Thou hast no cause — he shall not 
harm thee — but 
His sight may shock thine old limbs into palsy, 
I say to thee — Retire ! 

Abbot. And I reply — 

Never — till I have battled with this fiend :— 
What doth he here? 

Ma7i. Why — ay — what doth he here ?— ■ 
^ did not send for him, — he is unbidden. 

Abbot. Alas ! lost mortal I what with guests 
like these 



Hast thou to do? I tremble for thy sake: 
Why doth he gaze on thee, and thou on himf 
Ah! he unveils his aspect: on his brow 
The thunder-scars are graven ; from his eye 
Glares forth the immortality of hell — 
A vaunt! — 

Man. Pronounce — what is thy mission ? 

Spirit. Come 

Abbot. What art thou, unknown being? an 
swer ! — speak ! 

Spirit. The genius of this mortal. — Come! 
'tis time. 

Man. 1 am prepared for all things, but deny 
The power which summons me. Who sent theo 
here? 

Spirit. Thou 'It know anon — Come! come! 

Man. I have commanded 

Things of an essence greater far than thine, 
And striven with thy masters. Get thee hence ! 

Spirit. Mortal ! thine hour is come — A way ! 
I say. [but not 

Man. I knew, and know my hour is come, 
To render up my soul to such as thee : 
Away ! I '11 die as I have lived — alone. 

Spirit. Then I must summon up my bro. 
thren. — Rise ! [ OiherSpirits rise up 

Abbot. Avaunt ! ye evil ones ! — Avaunt ! I 

say,— 

Ye have n(j power where piety hath power, 
And I do charge ye in the name 

Spirit. Old man! 

We know ourselves,ourmission,and thine orden 
Waste not thy holy words on idle uses. 
It were in vain : this man is forfeited. 
Once more I summon him — Away I away 

Man. I do defy ye, — though I 1^ my soul 
Is ebbing from me, yet I do defy ye ; 
Nor will I hence, while I have earthly breath 
To breathe mj^scom upon ye — earthly strength 
To wrestle, though with spirits; what ye taka 
Shall be ta'en limb by limb. 

Spirit. Reluctant morteil 

Is this the magian who would so pervade 
The world invisible, and make himself 
Almost our equal? — Can it be that thou 
Art thus in love with life? the vgry life 
"Wliich made thee wretched ! 

Man. Thou false fiend, than liest 

My life is in its last hour, — that I know. 
Nor would redeem a moment of that hour; 
I do not combat against death, but thee 
And thy surrounding angels ; my past power 
Was purchased by no compact with thy crew 
But by superior science — penance — daring-^ 
And length of watching — stiength of mind— • 
and ftkill 



MANFRED. 



103 



la knowledge of our fathers — when the earth 
Saw men and spirits walking side by side, 
And gave ye no supremacy : I stand 
Upon my strength — 1 do defy — deny— 
Spurn bafik, and scorn ye ! — 

Spirit. But thy many crimes 

Have made the e 

Man. What are they to such as thee? 

Must crimes be punish'd but by other crimes, 
And greater criminals? — Back to thy hell! 
Thou hast no power upon me, that I feel; 
Thou never shalt possess me, that I know: 
What I ha,ve done is done; I bear within 
A toitm-e which could nothing gain from thine. 
The mind which is immortal makes itself 
Requital for its good or evil thoughts- 
Is its own origin of ill and end — 
And its own place and time — its innate sense. 
When stripp'd of this mortality, derives 
No colour from the fleeting things without ; 
But is absorb'd in suiferance or in joy, 
Bom from the knowledge of its own desert. 
Thou didst not tempt me, and tnou couldstuot 

tempt me ; 
i hare not been thy dupe, nor am thy prey — 



But was my o\vn destroyer, and will be 
My own hereafter. — Back, ye bafiied tiends 
The hand of death is on me — but not yours ! 
[77ie Demons disappear. 
Abbot. Alas I how pale thou ait — tlay lips 
are white — 
And thy breast heaves — and in thy gasping 

throat 
The accents rattle — Give thy prayers 

Heaven — 

Pray — albeit but in thought, — but die not thus 

Man. 'T is over — my dull eyes can fix thee 

not; 

But all things swim around me, and the earth 

Heaves as it were beneath me. Fare the*i 

well- 
Give me thy hand. 

Abbot. Cold — cold — even to the heart- 
But yet one prayer — Alas! how fares it with 
thee? 
Man. Old man ! 't is not so difficult to die. 
[Manfred expire*. 
Abbot. He's gone — his soul hath ta'ea bii 
earthless flight — 
Whither? I di'ead to think — ^but he ia gone. 



Cain : 



YSTERY. 



Now the S«rpent wa» more subtil than any beast of the field which tb«e Losd God had made * 

Gbn. ch. iii- yet. U 



PREFACE. 

Thk following scenes are entitled "A Mystery," 
hi conformity with the ancient title annexed to 
dramasuponsimilarsubjects.which were styled 
" Mysteries, or Moralities." The author has 
by no means taken the same liberties with his 
subject which were common, formerly, as may 
Y^e seen by any reader curious enough to refer 
to those very profane productions, whether in 
English, French, Italian, or Spanish. The 
author has endeavoured to preserve the lari- 
guage adapted to his characters ; and where it 
is (and this is but rarely) taken from actual 
Scripture, he has made as little alteration, 
even of words, as the rhythm would permit. 
The reader will recollect that the book of Ge- 
nesis does not state that Eve was tempted by 
a demon, but by "the Serpent; " and that only 
because he was "the most subtil of all the 
beasts of the field." Whatever intei-pretation 
the Rabbins and the Fathers may have put 
upon this, I take the words as I find them, 
and reply, with Bishop Watson upon similar 
occasions, when the Fathers were quoted to 
1. im, as Moderator in the schools of Cambridge, 
"Behold the Book!" — holding up the Scrip- 
ture. It is to be recollected that my present 
subject has nothing to do with the New Testa- 
ment, to which no reference can be here made 
without anachronism. With the poems upon 
similar topics I have not been recently fami- 
liar. Since I was twenty, I have never read 
Milton; but 1 had read him so frequently 
before, that this may make little difference. 
Gesner's " Death of Abel" I have never read 
since I was eight yems of age, at Aberdeen. 
The general impression of my recollection is 



delight ; but of the contents I remember oiJy 
that Cain's wife was called Mahala, and Abel's 
Thirza : in the following pages I have called 
them " Adah" and"Zillah," the earliest fern "?Je 
names which occur in Genesis ; they were those 
of Lamech's wives: those of Cain and Abel are 
not called by their names. Whether, then, a 
coincidence of subject may have caused the 
same in expression, I know nothing, and care 
as little. 

The reader will please to bear in mind (what 
few choose to recollect), that there is no aPu- 
sion to a future state in any of the books of 
Moses, nor indeed in the Old Testament.^ For 
a reason for this extraordinary omission he 
may consult Warburton's " Divine Legation;" 
whether satisfactory or not, no better has yet 
oeen assigned. I have therefore supposed it 
new to Cain, without, I hope, any perversion 
of Holy Writ. 

With regard to the language of Lucifer, it 
was difficult for me to make him talk like a 
clergyman upon the same subjects; but I have 
done what I could to restrain him within thtj 
bounds of spiritual politeness. 

If he disclaims having tempted Eve in the 
shape of the Serpent, it is only because th 
book of Genesis has not the most distant allu 
sion to any thing of the kind, but merely to the 
Serpent in his serpentine capacity. 

Note. — The reader will perceive that the 
author has partly adopted in this poem the 
notion of Cuvier, that the world had been de- 
stroyed several times before the creation of 
man. This speculation, derived from the dif- 
ferent strata and the bones of enormous and 
unknown animals found in them, is not con- 
trary to the Mosaic account but rathei" coo. 



CAIN. 



105 



firms it , as no human bones ha\'e yet been 
discovcvecl in those strata, although those of 
many known animals are found near the re- 
mains of the unkno'.vn. The assertion of 
I.ii.cifer, that the pre- Adamite world was also 
peopled by rational beings much more intelli- 
gent than man, and proportionably powerful to 
the mammoth, &c. -fee. is, of coiu'se, a poetical 
fiction to help him to make out his case. 

I ought to add, that there is a"lrumelogedia" 
•i" AlMeri, called "Abele." — I have never read 
ihat, nor any other of the posthumous works 
oi ihe writer, except his Life. 

Ravenna, Sept. 20, 1821. 



PRAMATIS PERSONiB. 

Men. — Adam. 

Cain. 
Abel. 

Spirits. — Angel op the Lord 

LUCIFES. 

Women — Eve. 
Adah. 

ZlLL4H. 



(Bain: 



A MYSTERY. 



ACT I. 

SCENE I. 

lie Land without Paradise. — Tine, Sunrise. 

Ar.iM, Eve, Cain, Abel, Adah, Zillah, 
offering a Sacrifice. 

Adam. God, the Eternal! Infinite! All- 
wise ! — 
Who out of darkness on the deep didst make 
Light on the waters with a word — all hail! 
Jehovah, with returning light, all hail! 

Ene. God! who didst name the day, and 
separate 
Morning from night, till then divided nevcr- 



Who didst divi4e tlie wave from wave, and cal 
Part of thy work the (iiTnament — all hail! 

Abel. God! who didst call the elements into 
Earth — ocean — air — and fire, and with theday 
And night, and worlds, which theseilUiminate 
Or shadow, madest beings to enjoy them, 
And love both them and thee — all hail '. aU 
hail ! 

Adah. God, the Eternal! Parent of all things! 
Who didst create these best and beauteous 

beings, 
To be beloved, more than all, save thee — 
Let me love thee and them : — All hail ! all 
hail! [blct.sir.g all, 

Zillah. Oh, God ! who loving, making. 
Yet didst pennit the Serpent to creep in. 
And dr-ve my father forth from Paradise, 
Keep us from farther evil : — Hail I all hail ' 

Adam. Son Cain, my first-bora, wherefore 
art thou silent? 

Cai7i. Why should I speak ? 

Adam. To pray. 

Caiit. Have ye not pray 'd ? 

Adam. We have, most fervently. 

Cain. And loudly : I 

Have heard you. 

Adam So will God, T trust. 

Abel. Amen ! 

Adam. But thou, my eldest born, art silent 
still. 

Cain. 'T is better I should be so. 

Adam. Wherefore so ? 

Cai7i. I have nought to ask.2 

Adam. Nor aught to thank for ? 

Cain. No. 

Adam. Dost thou not live ? 

Cain. Must I not die? 

Eve Alas ! 

The fruit of our forbidden tree begins 
To fall 3. 

Adam. And we mast gather it again. 
Oh, God ! why didst tboa plant the tree (rf 
knowledge ' 

Cain. And wherefore pmck'd ye not the 
tree of life ? 
Ye might have then defied him. 

Adam. Oh! my son, 

Blaspheme not : these are sei-pents' words, 

Cain. Why not? 

The snake spoke truth : it was the tree ot 

knowledge ; 
It teas the tree of life: knowledge is good. 
And lile is good ; and how can both be evil? 

Eve. My boy ! thou speakest as I spoke, in sin, 
Before thy birth : let roe not see rencw'd 
My »uiscry in thine. 1 have repented. 



lOG 



CAIN. 



Let me not see my offspring fall into 
The snai-es beyoud the walls ot Paradise, 
Which e'en in Paradise destroy 'd his parents. 
Content thee with what is. Had we been so 
Thou now hadstbeen contented. — Oh, my son 
Adam. Our orisons completed, let us her 56 
Each to his task of toil — noi heavy, though 
Needful : the earth is young, and yields us kindly 
Her fruits with little labour. 

Eve. Cain, my son, 

Behold thy father cheerful and resign'd, 
And do as he doth. [_Exeunt Adam and Eve. 
Zillah. Wilt thou not, my brother? 

Abel. "V^Tiy ■v\'ilt thou wear this gloom upon 
thy brow. 
Which can avail thee nothing, save to rouse 
The Eternal anger? 

Adah. My beloved Cain, 

Wilt thou frown' even on me ? 

Cain. No, Adah! no; 

1 fain would be alone a little while. 
Abel, I 'm sick at heart ; but it will pass. 
Precede, me, brother — I will follow shortly. 
And you, too, sisters, tany not behind; 
Your gentleness must not be harshly met : 
I '11 follow you anon. 

Adah. If not. I wiU 

Rctmn to seek you here. 

Ahel Tlie peace of God 

Be on your spirit, brother ! 

lExeunt Abel, Zillah, and Adah 
Cain {solus). And this is 

life! — Toil! and wherefore should I toil? — 

because 
My father could not keep his place in Eden. 
What had I done in this? — I was mibom: 
I sought not to be born ; nor love the state 
Towhichthatbirth hasbroughtme. Why didhe 
Yield to the sei-pent and the woman? or, 
Yielding, why suffer ? What was there in this ? 
The tree was planted, and why not for him? 
If not, why place him near it, where it grew, 
The fairest in the centre? They have but 
One answer to all questions, "T was Jiis will. 
And he is good " How know I that? Because 
He is all-powerful, must all-good, too, follow? 
I judge but by the Iruils — undthey are bitter — 
Which I must feed on for a fault not mine. 
Wliom have we here? — A shape like to the 

angeis, 
Yet of a sterner and a sadder aspect 
Of spiritual essence : why do I quake ? 
WTiy should I fear him more than other spirits, 
Whom I see daiW wave their fiery swords 
Before t'.e gates round which I linger oft. 
Id twilights Lour, to catch a glimpse of those 



Gardens which are my just inheritance. 
Ere the night closes o'er the inhibited walls 
And the immortal trees which overtop 
The cherubim-defended battlements? 
If I shrink not from these, the fire-arm'd angels 
Why .should I quail from him who novt 

approaches ? 
Yet he seems mightier far than them, nor less 
Beauteous, and yet not all as beautiful 
As he hath been, and might be : sorrow seems 
Half of his immortality.-* And is it 
So ? and can aught grieve save humanity ? 
He Cometh. 

Enter Lucifke. 

Lucifer. Moital ! 

Cain. Spirit, who art thou ? 

Jjucifer. Master of spirits. 

Cain. And being so, canst thoa 

Leave them, and walk with dust ? 

Lucifer. I know the thoughts 

Of dust, and feel for it, and with you. 

Cain. How ! 

You know my thoughts ? 

Lucifer. They are the thoughts of all 

Worthy of thought ; — 't is your immortal part 
Which speaks within you. 

Cain. What immortal part? 

This has not been reveal'd : the tree of life 
Was withheld from us by my father's folly. 
While that of knowledge, by my mother's haste, 
Waspluck'd too soon ; and all the fmitis death! 

Lucifer. They have deceived thee ; thou 
shalt live 

Cain. I live, 

But live to die: and, living, see no thing 
To make death hateful, save an innate clinging. 
A loathsome, and yet all invincible 
Instinct of life, which I abhor, as 1 
Despise myself, yet cannot overcome — 
And so I live. Would I had never lived ! 

Lucifer. Thou livest, andmustlive for ever: 
think not 
The earth, which is thine outward cov'ring. 
Existence — it will cease, and thou wilt be 
No less than thou ait now. 

Cain. Nofc«».' and why 

No more ? 

Lucifer. It may be thou shalt be as we. 

Cain. And ye ? 

Lucifer, Ai-e everlasting. 

Cain. Are ye happy,' 

Lucifer. We are mighty. 

Cai7i. Are ye happy? 

Lucifer. No : art thoa* 

Cain. How shouia a be so? Look on m* ' 



CAIN. 



107 



Ltutfer. Poor clay ! 

And ihcii prctendest to be wretched ! Thou ! 

Cain. I am : — and thou, with all thy mighty 
what art thou ? 

Lucifer. One who aspired to be what made 
thee, and 
Would not have made thee what thou art, 

Cain. Ah ! 

Then look'si almost a god ; and 

Lv.cifer. I am none : 

And having fail d to be one, would be nought 
Save what 1 am. Heo^nquer'd; let him reign I 

Cain. Who? 

Lucifer. Thy sire's Maker, and the earth's. 

Cain. And heaven's. 

And all tJiat in them is. So I have heard 
His seraplLS sing ; and so my lather saith. 

Lucifer. They say — what they must sing 
and say, on pain 
Of being that which \ am — and thou art—* 
Of spirits and of men. 

Cain. And what is that ? 

Lucifer. Souls who dare use their immor- 
tality — 5 
Souls who dai-e look the Omnipotent tyrant in 
His everlasting face, and tell him, that 
His evil is not good I If he has made, 
A.3 he saith — which I know not, nor believe — 
tiut, if he made us — he cannot unmake : 
We are immortal! — nay, he'd have us so. 
That he may torture: — let himl He is great — 
But, in his greatness, is no happier than 
We in our conflict! Goodness would not make 
Evil; and what else hath he made? Butlethim 
Sit on his vast and solitary throne, 
Creatiug worlds, to make eternity 
Less burthensome to his immense existence 
And unparlicipated solitude 1 
Let him crowd orb on orb : he is alone 
Indehnite, indissoluble tyrant! [boon 

Could he but crush himself, "t were the best 
He ever granted: but, let liim reign on, 
And nndtiply himself in misery! 
Spirits and men, at least we sjnnpathise — 
And, sutFering in concert, make our pangs, 
Innumerable, more endurable. 
By the unbounded sympathy of all — 
With all ! But He! so wretched in his height. 
So restless in his wretchedness, must still 
Create, and re-create 

Cain. Thou speak'st to me of things which 
long have swum 
In visions through my thought: I never could 
Re oncilc what I saw with what I heard. 
M vather and my mother talk to me 
trperits, and of fruits and trees : I see 



The gates of what the^ call their Paradise 
Guarded by tiery-s worded cherubim, 
Which shut them out, and me: I leeithcwcigb 
Of daily toil and constant thought : I look 
Around a world where I seem nothing, with 
Thoughts which arise within me, as if they 
Could master all things: — but I thought alou« 
This misery was mine. — My father is 
Tamed down; my mother has forgot the min 
Which made her thirst for knowledge at the ris?? 
Of an eternal curse ; my brother is 
A watching shepherd boy, who offers up 
The firstlings of the flock to him who bids 
The earth yield nothing to us without sweat 
My sister ZiUah sings an earlier hymn 
Than the birds' matins; and my Adah, my 
Own and beloved, she, too, understands not 
The mind which ovenvhelms me: never till 
Now met I aught to sympathise with me. 
'T is well — I rather would consort with spirits. 

Lucifer. And hadst thou not been tit by 
thine own soul 
For such companionship, I would not now 
Have stood before thee as I am : a serpent 
Had been enough to charm ye, as before. 

Cain. Ah ! didst thou tempt my mother? 

Lucifer. I tempt none, 

Save with the truth: was not the tree, the tree 
Of knowledge ? and was not the tree of life 
Still fruitful ?*J Did I bid her pluck them not? 
Did I plant things prohibited withhi 
The reach of beings innocent, and curious 
By their owm innocence? I would have made 
ye [thrust ye 

Gods; and even He who thrust ye forth, so 
Because " ye should not eat the fruits of life, 
And become gods as we." Were those his 
words ? 

Cain They were, as I have heard from those 
who heard them. 
In thunder, 

Lucifer. Then who was the demon ? H» 
■Wlio would not let ye live, or he who would 
Have made ye live for ever in the joy 
And power of knowledge? 

Cain. Would they had snatch'd both 

The fruits, or neither ! 

Lucifer. One is yours aheady; 

The other may be still. 

Cain. How so? 

Lucifer. By being 

Yourselves, in your resistance. Nothing i;aB 
Quench the mind, if the mind will be itself 
And centre of suiTounding things — 'tis uiade 
To sway. 

Cain. But didst thou tempt my pai cats? 



108 



CAIN. 



Lucifer. I ? 

Poor clay ! what shoidd I tempt them for, or 
how? 

Cain They say the serpent was a spirit. 

Lucifer. Who 

Saith that? It is not wrHten so on high: 
The proud One will not so far falsify, 
Though man's vast fears and little vanity 
Would make him cast upon the spiritual na- 

ture 
ITia own low failing. The snake was the 
snake — [tempted, 

No more; and yet not less than those he 
lii natui'e being earth also — more in wisdom, 
Since he could overcome them, and foreknew 
The knowledge fatal to their narrow joys. 
Think'st thou I 'd take the shape of things that 
die? 

Cain. But the thing had a demon? 

Lucifer. He but woke one 

In those he spake to with his forky tongue. 
I tell thee that the sei-^ient was no more 
Than a mere sei^ient: ask the cherubim 
Who guai-d the tempting tree. When thousand 

ages 
Have roll'd o'er your dead ashes.and your seed's, 
The seed of the then world i.nay thus airay 
Their ea^-Iiest fault in fable, and attribute 
To me a shape I scorn, as 1 scorn idl 
That bows to him, who made things but to bend 
Before his sullen, sole eternity ; 
But we, who see the truth, must speak it. Thy 
Fond parents lislen'd to a crecj)ing thing. 
And feh. For what should spirits tc .upt them? 

What 
Was there to envy in the narrow bounds 
Of Paradise, that spirits who pervade 

Space but I speak to thee of what thou 

know'st not. 
With all thy tree of knowledge. 

. Cain. But thou canst not 

Speak aught of knowledge which I would not 

know. 
And do not thirst to know, and bear a mind 
To know. 

Lucifer. And heail to look on? 

Cain. Be it proved. 

Lucifer. Darest thou to look on Death? 

Cain. lie has not yet 

Been seen. 

Lucifer. But must be undergone. 

Cain. My father 

Says he is something dreadful, and my mother 
Weeps when he is named ; and Abel lilts his 

eyes 
To bcafen, and Zillah casts hers to the earth. 



And sighs a prayer ; and Adah looks tm a», 
And speaks not. 

Lucifer. And thou? 

Cain. Thoughts unspeakablt 

Crowd in my breast to burning, when I hear 
Of this almighty Death, who is, it seems, 
Lievitable. Could 1 v/restle with him? 
I wrestled with the lion, when a boy, 
In play, till he ran roaring from my gripe, 

Lucifer. It has no shape; but will absorh 
all things 
That bear the form of eai-th-born being. 

Cain. Ah ! 

I thought it was a being : who could do 
Such evil things to beings save a being? 

Lucifer. Ask the Destroyer. 

Cain. Who? 

Lucifer The iMaker— call hia 

Which name thou wilt; he makes but t.-nU'stroy. 

Cain. I knewtiot tliat, yet thought it, since 
I heard 
Of death : although I know not what it is. 
Yet it seems horrible. 1 have look'd out 
In the vast desolate nigiit in search of him ; 
And when I saw gigantic shadows in 
The mnbrage of the walls of iitien, cheqner'd 
By the far-dashing of the chenibs' a words, 
I watch'd for what I thoughthis coming^; foJ 
With fear rose longing in my heart to know 
What 't was which shook us all — but notlnufi 

And then J turn'd my weary eyes from off 
Our native and forljidden Paradise, 
Up to the lights above us, in the azure. 
Which are so beautiful : shall they, loo, die? 

Lucifer. Perhaps — but long outlive both 
thine and thee. 

Cain. I 'm glad of that : I would not have 
them die — 
They are so lovely. ^Vllat is death ? I fesr 
I feci, it is a dreadful thing; bat what, 
I cannot eomj)ass: 'lis denounced against iia. 
Both them who sinn'i a)id sinn'd not.as an ill— 
What ill ? 

Lucifer. To be resolved into the eaith. 

Cain. But shall I know it? 

Lucifer. As I know not death, 

I cannot answer. 

Cain. Were I quiet earth 

That were no evil : would I ne'er had y^n 
Aught else but dust ! 

Lucifer. Tlial is a grovelling wish. 

Less than thy father's, for he wishd to know. 

Cain. Hut not to live, or wherefore pluck'o 
he not 
The life tree? 



CAIN. 



lOf 



Lucifer. He was hiniler'd. 

Cain. Deadly eiror'. 

N ot lo Mialch first that fruit : — but ere lie j iluck'd 
liic knowledge, he was ignorant of death. 
Alas! i scarcely now know what it is, 
ind yet I lour it — fear I know not what! 
Lucij'cr. And I, who know all things, fear 
notliing: see 
;^bat is li-ue knowledge. 
Cuiii. Wilt thou teach me all? 

Lucifer. Ay, upon one condition. 
Cain. Name it. 

Lucifer. Tiiat 

Thou dost fall down and worship me — thy 
Lord. 
Cain. Thou ait not the Lord my fatlier 

worships. 
Lucifer. No. 

Cain. His efjual? 

Liwifer. No; — I have nought in common 
witli him! [beneatli — 

Nor would: I would be aught above — 
-Aught save a sharer or a servant of 
K's power. I dwell apart; but I am gixat: — 
Many there are who worship me, and more 
Who sliall — be thou amongst the fn-sL 

Cain. I never 

An yet have bow'd unto my father's God, 
Although my brother Abel oit implores 
That I would join with him in sacnlice:— 
Why should i bow to tliee? 

Lu-ufcr. Hast thou ne'er bow'd 

To him? 

Cain. Have I not said it? — need I say it? 

Could not thy mighty knowledge teach thee that? 

Lucifer, fie who bows not to him has 

bow'd to me! 
Cain. But I will bend to neither. 
Lucifer. Ne'er the less. 

Thou ait my worshipper: not worshipping 
Him makes thee mine the saine. 

Cain. And what is that? 

xjact'''!r. Thou 'It know here — and heicailer. 
Catr. Let me but 

8e taugiit the mystery of my being. 

Lucifer. Follow 

Where 1 will lead thee. 

Cain. But I must retire 

To till the earth — for I had promised 

Lucifer. What? 

Cain. To cull some first-fruits. 
Lucifer. ^\'hy 

Cain To oiler up 

V\'itii Abel on an altar 

Lucifer. Saidst thou not 

Fbou ne'er hadat bent to him who made thee? 



Cain. Yes — 

But Abel's earnesi prayer has wrougl-.t upon 

me ; [Adah 

The offering is more his than mine — and 

Lucifer. Why dost tliou hesitate ? 

Cain. She is my sister, 

Born on the same day, of the same womb ; 
and [and 

She wTung from me, with tear^, this promise; 
llaiher than see hor weep, I would, methinks, 
Bear all — and worship aught. 

Lucifer. Then follow me : 

Cain. I will. 

Enter Adah. 

Adah. My brother, I have come for Uice ; 
It is om- hour of rest and joy — and we [not 
Have less without thee. Thou hast labour'd 
This morn ; but I have done Uiy task : the 
fruits [ripens: 

Ai-e ripe, and glowing as the light which 
Come away. 

Cain. See'st thou not ? 

Adah. I see an angel , 

We have seen many : will he t-haie our hour 
Of rest ? — he is welcome. 

Cain. But he is not like 

The angels we have seen. 

Adaii. Are there, then, others? 

But he is welcome, as they were : they deign'd 
To be om- guests — will he 2 

Cain [to Lucifer). Wilt thou ? 

Lucifer I ask 

Thee to be mine. 

Cain. I must away with him, 

Adah. And leave us ? 

Cain. Ay. 

Adah. And me ? 

Cain. Beloved Adah' 

Adah. JjCt me go with thee. 

Lucifer. No, she must not. 

Adah. ^^•ho 

Art thou that steppest between heait and heart? 

Cain. He is a god. 

Adah. How know'st thou ? 

Cain. He sjieaks like 

A g..d. 

Adah. So did the serpent, and it lied. 

Lucifer. Thou errest, Adah ! — was not the 
tree that 
Of knowledge ? 

.^dxh. Ay — to our eternal sorrow 

Lucifer. And yet tiiat grisf is knowledge— 
so he lied not • 
And if he did betray you, 't was with tintJi; 
And tnuh in its own essence cannot be 

But gOlKl. 



110 



CAIN. 



Adah. But all 'vv e know of it has gather'd 
Evil on ill: expulsion from our home, 
A.nd dread, and toil, and sweat, and heaviness; 
Remorse of that which was — and hope of that 
Which cometh not. Cain ! walk noi with 
this spirit. '' — I 

Bear with what we have bonie, and love luo 
Xove thee. [sire ? 

Lucifer. More than thy mother, and thy 
Adah. I do. Is that a sin, too ? 
Lucifer. No, not yet : 

It one day will be in your childi-en. 

Adah. ^^Tiat ! 

Must notmy daughter love her brother Enoch? 
Lucifer. Not as thou lovest Cain. 
Adah. Oh, my God » 

Shall they not love and bring forth things 
that love [milk 

Out of their love ? have they not dra^\^l their 
Out of this bosom ? was not he, their father, 
Born of the same sole womb, in the same hour 
With me ? did we not love each other ? and 
In multiplying our being multiply 
Things which will love each other as we love 
Them ? — And as 1 love thee, my Cain! go not 
Forth with this spirit ; he is not of ours. 
Lucifer. The sin I speak of is not of my 
making. 
And cannot be a sin in you — whate*er 
It seem in those who will replace ye in 
Mortality. 

Adah'. What is the sin which is not 
Sin in itself ? Can circumstance make sin 
Or virtue ? — if it doth, we are the slaves 

Of [and higher 

Lucifer. Higher things than ye are slaves : 
Than them or ye would be so, did -they not 
Prefer an independency of torture 
To the smooth agonies of adulation, [prayers, 
In h^nnns and hai-pings, and seU-seeking 
To that which is omnipotent, because 
It is omnipotent, and not from love, 
Bui cerror and self-hope. 

Adah. Omnipotence 

Must be all goodness. 

Lucifer. Was it so in Eden ? 

Adah. Fiend ! tempt me not with beauty ; 
tliou art fairer 
Than was the serpent, and as false. 

ijucifer. As ti-ue. 

Ask Eve, your mother : bears she not the 

knowledge 
0/ good and evil ? 

Adah. Oh, my mother ! thou 

Hsxst pluck'd a fnut more fatal to thine 
o&pring 



Than to thyself; thou at the least hast pass'iS 
Thy youth in Paradise, in innoceut 
And happy iutercom-se with happy spirits : 
But we, thy children, ignorant of Eden, 
Are girt about by demons, who t-ssume 
The words of God, and tempt us with our own 
Dissatisfied and curious thoughts — as thou 
Wert work'd on by the snake, in thy mo;^ 

flush'd 
And heedless, harmless wantonness of bliss. 
I cannot answer this immortal thing 
Which stands before me ; I can not abhor him ; 
I look upon him with a pleasing feai", 
And yet I fly not from him : in his eye 
There is a fastening attraction which 
Fixes my fluttering eyes on his; my heart 
Beats quick ; he awes me, and yet chaws me 
near, [from him , 

Nearer, and nearer: — Cain — Cain — save m« 
Cairi. What dreads my Adah? This is nc 
ill spirit. [beheld 

Adah. He is not God — nor God's: I have 
The cherubs and the seraphs; he h)oks not 
Like them. 

Cain. But there are spirits loftier still — 
The archangels 

Lucifer. And still loftier than the archangels. 
Adah. Ay — but not blessed. 
Lucifer. If the blessedness 

Consists in slavery — no. 

Adah. I have heard it said. 

The seraphs love most — cherubim k no wmosl — 
And this shoidd be a cherub — since he loves not. 
Lucifer And if the higher knowledge 
quenches love. 
What must he be you cannot love when k-nown ? 
Since the all-knowing cherubim love least. 
The seraphs' love can be but ignorance: 
That they are not compatible, the doom 
Of thy fond parents, for their daring, proves. 
Choose betwixt love and knowledge — since 
there is [already; 

No other choice : your sire hath chosen 
His worship is but fear 

Adah. Oh, Cain I choose love 

Cain. For thee, my Adah, I choose not— 
it was 
Born with me — but I love nought else. 

Adah. Our parents ? 

Cain. Did they love us when they snatch^ 
from the tree 
That which hath driven us all from Paradise? 
Adah. Wc were not bwn then — and if wt 
had been, 
Should wc not love thcin aud our cUldrea 
Cain? 



CAIN. 



Ill 



Cam. M7 little Enoch ! and bis lisping 
sister ! 
Cuula i but deem thera kippy, I would half 

Forget but it can never be forgotten 

Ihvoagh thrice a thousand generations ! never 
Shall men love the remembrance ol' the man 
Wbc sowd the seed of evil and mankind 
in ihc same hour ! They pluok'd the tree of 

icience 
Aiui sin — and, not content with their own 

sorrow, 
Begot me — Uiee — and all the few that are. 
And all the unnumber'd and innmnerable 
Multitudes, millions, myiiads, which may be, 
To inherit agonies accumulated 
Ky ages! — and/ must be sire of such things! 
Thy beauty and tliy love — my love and joy. 
The rapturous moment and the placid hour, 
ill vi e love in our children and each other, 
Bat lead them and omselves thi-ough many 

years 
Of sin and pain — or few, but still of son-ow, 
Intercheck'd with an instant of brief pleasure 
To Death — the unknown ! Methiuks the tree 

of knowledge . 
Hath not fiilfiU'd its promise: — if they sinn'd 
At least they ought to have known all things 

that are 
Of knowledge — and the my tery of death. 
What do they know? — that they are miserable. 
What need ofsuakes and fruits to teach us that ? 

Adah. I am not wretched, Cain, and if thou 
Wert happy 

Cain. Be thou happy, then, alone — 

I will have naught to do viith happiness, 
Which hmnbles me and mine. 

Adah. Alone I could not, 

'iioxwouldhe happy: but with those aroimdus, 
I think I could be so, despite of death, 
"^Vhich, as I know it not, I dread not, though 
it seems an awful shadow — if I may 
Judge from what I have heard. 

Lui^ Fer. And thou couldst not 

Alonr, thou say'st, be happy? 

A^ah. Alone! Oh, my God! 

Who could be happy and alone, or good? 
To me my solitude &etms sin; unless 
■VMienl think howsoon I shall see mybroth'^r. 
His brother, and ourchi:dren, and our parents. 

Lucifer. Yet thy God is alone ; and is he 
happy ? 
Lonely, and good? 

Adah. He is not so ; he hath 

The angels and ths mortals to make happy. 
And thus beoomei 40 in tiifhising joy ! 
What else can joy be, but the spreading joy? 



Lucifer. Ask 'f your sire, the exile fres> 
from Eden; 
Or of his first-born son: ask yoiu- own heait' 
It is not tranquil. 

Adah. Alas ! no ! and you — 

Ai'c you of heaven? 

Lucifer. If I am not, inquire 

The cause of this all-spreading happiness 
(Which you proclaim) of the all-gi-eat and good 
Maker of life and living things ; it is 
His secret, and he ket-ps it. TFe nuist bear. 
And some of us resist, and both in vain. 
His seraphs say; but it is worth the trial, 
Since better may not be without: there is 
A wisdom in the spirit, which directs 
To right, as in the dim blue air the eye 
Of you, young mortals, lights at once upon 
The star which watches, welcoming the morn. 

Adah. It is a beautiful star-; I love it for 
Its beauty 

Lucifer. And why not adore? 

Adah. Our fathef 

Adores the Invisible only. 

Lucifer. But the symbols 

Of the Invisible are the loveliest 
Of what is visible; and yon blight star 
Is leader of the host of heaven. 

Adah. Our father 

Saith that he has beheld the God himself 
Who made him and our mother. 

Lucifer. Hast thou seen him? 

Adah. Yes — in his works. 

Lucifer, But in his being? 

Adah. No — ■ 

Save in my father, who is God's own image 
Or in his angels, who ai-e like to thee — 
And brighter, yet less beautiful and powerfiU 
In seeming: as the silent sunny noon, 
All light they look upon us ; but thou seem'st 
Like an ethereal night, where long white clouds 
Streak the deep piu-ple, and imnumber'd stai-g 
Spangle the wonderful mysterious vault 
With things that look as if they would be suns ,■ 
So beautiful, imniunbei'd, and endearing. 
Not dazzling, and yet drawing us to them. 
They fill my eyes with tears, and so dost thou 
Thou seem'st unhappy : do not make us so. 
And I win weep for thee. 

Lucifer. Alas ! those tears ! 

Cotddst thou but know what oceans will b« 
shed 

Adah. By me ? 

Lucifer. By aU 

Adah. What all ? 

Lucifer. The millicm millions— 

The myriad myriads — the all-peopled earth— 



112 



CAIN. 



The unpeopled earth — and the oer-peopled 

Hell, 
Of which thy bosom is the germ, 

Adah. O Cain ! 

This spirit cui-seth us. 

Cain. Let him say on ; 

Him will I follow. 

Adah. WUther ? 

Lucifer. To a place 

Whence he shall come bqck to thee in an hour j 
But in that hour see things of many days. 

Adah. How can that be ? 

Lucifer. Did not your Maker make 

Out ol" old worlds this new one in few days ? 
And cannot I, who aided in this work, 
Show in an hour what he hath made in many. 
Or hath desUoyed in few ? 

Cain. Lead on. 

Adah. Will he 

In sooth, retirni within an hour ? 

Lucifer. He shall. 

With us acts are exempt from time, and we 
Can crowd eternity into an hom', 
Or stretch an hour into eternity : 
We breathe not by a mortal measurement — 
But that 's a mystery. Cain, come on with me. 

Adah. Will he return ? 

Lucifer. Ay, woman ! he alone 

Of mortals from that place (the first and last 
Who shall return, save One), — shall come 

back to thee, 
To make that silent and expectant world 
As populous as this : at present there 
Ai"e few inhabitants. 

Adah. Where dwellest thou? 

Lucifer. Throughout all space. Where 
should I dwell ? Wlaere are 
Thy God or Gods — there am I : all things are 
Divided with me ; life and death — and time — 
Eternity — and heaven and earth — and that 
Which is notheavennorearth,butpeopled\nth 
Those vtho once peopled or shvJl people both — 
These are my realms ! So that I clo divide 
His, and possess a kingdom which is not 
His. If I were not that which I have said, 
Could I stand here ? His angels are within 
Your vision. 

Adah. So they were when the fair serpent 
Spoke with our mother first. 

Lucifer. Cain ! thou hast heard. 

If thou dost long for knov/ledge, I can satiate 
That thirst ; nor ask thee to partake of fruits 
Whith shiill deprive thee of a single good 
Tlie conqueror has left thee. Follow me. 

Cain. Spuit, I liave said it. 

lExeunt Lucifek and Cain. 



Adah, {follows, exclaiming). Cain! 
brother! Cain! 



ACT n. 

SCENE I. 

TJie Abyss of Space. 

Cain. I tread on air, and sink not; yot 1 feaf 
To sink. 

Lucifer. Have faith in me, and thou shall bfl 
Borne on the air, of which I am the prince. 

Cain. Can I do so without i)npiety? 

Lucifer. Believe — and sink not! doubt — 
and perish! thus 
Would run the edict of the other God, 
Who names me demon to his angels; thej 
Echo the sound to miserable things, 
Which, knowing nought beyond their chaUow 
senses, [deem 

Worship the word which strikes their ear, and 
Evil or good what is proclaim'd to them 
In their abasement. I will have none such 
Worship or worship not, thou shalt behold 
The worlds beyond thy little world, nor be 
Amerced for doubts be\ ond thy little life 
With torture of my dooming. There will come 
An horn-, when, toss'd upon some water-drops, 
A man shall say to a m;in, " Believe in me. 
And walk the waters;" and the man shall \\ alk 
The billows and be safe. / will not say, 
Believe in 7ne, as a conditional creed 
To save thee ; but fly with me o'er the gulf 
Of space an equal flight, and I will show 
What thou dar'st not deny, — the history 
Of pa-:;t, and present, and of futiu-e worlds. 

Cain. Oh, god, or demon, oi whate'er thou ait, 
Is yon our earth? 

Lucifer. Dost thou not recognise 

The dust which form'd yovu- father ? 

Cain. Can it b(^? 

Yon small blue circle, swinging in far ether, 
With an inferior circlet near it still. 
Which looks like that which ht oiu- earthly 

night ? 
Is this our Paradise ? Where are its walls, 
And they who guard them ? 

Lucifer. Point me out the srlt 

Of Paradise. 

Cam. How should I ? As we move 
Like sunbeams onwai-d, it grows sroal' and 

smaller, 
And as it waxes little, and then less. 
Gathers a halo round it, Uke the light 



CAIiS^. 



113 



^Tiicb shone the roundest of the stars, when I 
Beheld them from the ski/ts of Paradise : ' 
Methinks they botli, as we recede from them, 
Appeal' to join the innumerable stars 
Which are around us; and, as we move on, 
LucreiiAe their myriads. 

Lucifer. And if there should be 

Worlds greater than thine own, inhabited 
J5y greater things, and they themselves far more 
In number than the dust of thy dull earth, 
Though multiplied to animated atoms, 
All living, and all doom'd to death,aud wretched, 
Wh.it woiddit thou think? 

Cain. 1 should be proud of thought 

Which knew such things. 

Lucifir. But if that high thought were 

Link'd to a servile mass of matter, and. 
Knowing such things, asijiring to such things. 
And science siili' beyond them, where chain 'd 

down " 
T(} the most gi'oss and petty paltry wants, 
AU foul and fulsome, and the very best 
Of tliine enjoyments a sweet degradation, 
A most enervating and filthy cheat 
To lure thee on to the renewal of 
Fresh souls and bodies, all foredoom'd to be 
As IVail, and few so happy 

Cain. Spirit ! I 

Know nought of death, save as a dreadful thing 
Of which I have heard my parents speak, as of 
A hideous heritage I owe to them 
No less than life ; a heritage not happy, 
If I may judge, till now. But, spirit! if 
It be as thou host said (and I within 
Feel the prophetic torture of its truth). 
Here let me die: for to give birth to those 
Wlio can but suffer many years, and die, 
Methinks is merely propagating death, 
And multiplying mm'der. 

Litcifer. Thou canst not 

AU die — there is what must sui-vive. 

Cain. The Other 

Spake not of this unto my father, when 
He shut him forth from Paradise, with death 
Written upon his forehead. But at least 
Let what is mortal of me perish, that 
I may be in the rest as angels are. 

Lucifer. I am angelic: wouldst thou, be as 
I am? [power, 

Cain. I know not what thou art* 1 see thy 
And see thou show'st me things beyond my 

power. 
Beyond all power of my bora faculties, 
Altliough inferior still to my desires 
A'ul my conceptions. 

Lucifer. What are they which dwell 

9 



So humbly in their pride, as to sojourn 
With worms in clay? 

Cain. And what art thou who dw^Ues* 
So haughtily in spirit, and canst range 
Natu?-e and irnmoitality — and yet 
Seem'st sonowful ? 

lAicifer. J seem that which I am; 

And therefore dc I ask of thee, if Lhou 
Wouldst be immorial ? 

Ca:n\' Thou hast said, I must U 

Immortal in despite of me. 1 knew- not 
This until lately — but since it must be, 
Let me, or happy or unhappy, learu 
To anticipate my immortality. 

Lucifer. Thou didst before I came upon tbec. 
Cain. How ? 

Lucifer By suffering 

Cain. And must torture be immortal? 

Lucifer. We and thy sons will try, Bu» 
now, behold I 
Is it not glorious ? 

Cain Oh, thou beautiful 

And unimaginable ellier! and 
Ye multiplynig masses of increased 
And still increasing lights! what are ye? what 
Is this blue wilderness of interminable 
Air, where ye roll along, as I have seen 
The leaves along the limpid streams of Edenf 
Is your course measured for ye ? Or do ye 
Sweep on in your unb(junded revehy 
Through an aerial universe of endless 
Expansion — at which my soul aches to think— 
Intoxicated with eternity? 
Oh God! Oh Gods! or whatsoe'er ye are! 
How beautiful ye are! how beautiful 
Your works, or accidents, or whatsoe'er 
They may be! Let me die, as atoms die, 
(If that they die) or know ye in your might 
And knowledge ! My thoughts are not in this 

h.)ur 
Unwoithy what I see, though my dust is ; 
Spirit! le; me expire, or see them nearer. 
Lucifer. Art thou not nearer ? look back to 
thine earth! [mass 

Cain. Wh^re is it? I see nothing save a 
Of most innumerable lights. 

Lucifer. ' Look there! 

Cain. I cannot see it. 
Lucifer. Yet it sparkles still. 

Caiti. That! — yonder! 
Jjucifer. , Yea. 

Cain. And wilt tiiou tell rae so? 

Why, I have seen the lire-dies and iJic-womis 
Spi-iukle the dusky groves and Ihe gr»en l)aaks 
In the dim twilight, brighter than • ou worid 
Which bears them. 



114 



CAIN. 



Luct/er. The a hast seen both worms and 

worlds, [of them ? 

Each bright and sparkling — ^what dost think 

Cain. That they aie beautiful in their o-«u 
sphere, 
/nd that the night, which makes both beautifui, 
Ihe little shining fire-iiy in its fdght, 
nd the immortal star in its great course, 
lust both be e;uided. 

Lucifer. But by whom or what ? 

Cain. Sho^ me. 

Lucifer. Dar'st thou behold ? 

Cain. How know I what 

1 dare behold? As yet, thou hast shown nought 
I dare not gaze on fm-ther. 

Lucifer. On, then, with me. 

Wouldst thou behold things mortal or iromortal ? 

Cain. ^Tiy, what are things? 

Lucifer. Both -partly : but what doth 

Sit next thy heait ? 

Cain. The things I see. 

Lucifer. But what 

Sate nemest it ! 

Cain. The things I have not seen. 

Nor ever shall — the mysteries of death. 

Lucifer. What, if I show to thee things 
which have died, 
Ah I have shown thee much which cannot die ? 

Cain. Do so. 

Lucifer. Away, then ! on our mighty wings. 

Cain. Oh! how we cleave the blue ! The 
stai's fade from us ! 
rhe earth! where is my earth? Let me look 

on it. 
For I was made of it. 

Lucifer. 'T is now beyond thee, 

Less, in the universe, than thou in it; 
Yet deem not that thou canst escape it; thou 
Shalt soon return to earth, and all its dust: 
T' is part of thy eternity, and mine. 

Cain. Where dost thou lead me? 

Lucifer. To what was before thee ! 

The phantasm of the world ; of which thy world 
Is but the AVi'eck. 

Cain. WTiat! is it not then new? 

Lucifer. No more than life is ; and that was 
ere thou ' 
Or I were, or the things which seem to us 
Greater than either: many things will have 
No end ; and some, which would pretend to have 
Had no beginning, have had one as mean 
As tliou; and mightier things have been extinct 
To make way for much meaner than we can 
Surmise; for moments only and the space 
Have been ana must be all unchanyeahle. 
But oh inges make not death except, to cla-yy 



But thou art clay, — and canst but comprehend 

That which was clay, and such thou shall 

behold. [suvvev. 

Cain. Clay, spirii what thou wilt, 1 can 

Lucifer. Away, then! 

Cain. But the hghts fade from me fast, 
And some till now giew larger as we &p- 

proach'd, 
And wore the look of worlds. 

Lucifer. And such tliey are 

Cain. And Edens in them? 

Lucifer. It may be. 

Cain. And men? 

Lucifer. Yea, or things higher. 

Cain. Ay ? and serpents too? 

Lucifer. Wouldst thou have men without 
them? must no reptiles 
Breathe save the erect ones? 

Cain. How the lights recede . 

Where fly we?- 

Lucifer. To the world of phantoms, which 
Ai-e beings past, and shadows still to come. 

Cain. But it giows daik and daak — the stars 
are gone! 

Lucifer. And yet thou seest 

Cain. 'T is a fearful light^ 

No sun, no moon, no lights innumerable. 
The veiy blue of the empui-pled uignt 
Fades to a di-eary tvidlight, yet I see 
Huge dusky masses: hut unlike the worlds 
We were approaching, which, begirt with light, 
Seem'd fidl of life even when their atmosphere 
Of hght gave way, and show'd them taking 

shapes 
Unequal, of deep valleys and vast mountains ; 
And some emitting spai'ks, and some displaying 
Enormous liquid plains, and some begirt 
With luminous belts, and floating moons, wnich 

took. 
Like them, the features of fair earth: — instead, 
All here seems dark and di-eadful. 

Lucifer. But distinct, 

Thou seekest to behold death, and dead things? 

Cain. I seek it not; but as I know there ai-e 
Such, and that my sire's sin makes him and me 
And all that we inherit, liable 
To such, I would behold at once, what I 
Must one day see perforce. 

Lucifer, Behold I 

Cain. T is darkness. 

Lucifer. And so it shall be ever; brit wewiU 
Unfold its gates I 

Cain. Enormous vapours roll 

Apart — what's this? 

Lucifer. Knter! 

Cain. Can I retentf 



CAIN. 



115 



Lucifer. Return! be sure: how else should 
(lt;alh be peopled? 
Its present realm is thiu to what it will be. 
Through thee aud thine. 

Cam. The clouds still open wide 

And wider, and make widening circles round 
us. 
Lucifer. Advance! 
Cain. And thou! 

Lucifer. Fear not — without me thou 

Couldst not have gone beyond thy world. 
On! on! 
iTfiey disappear through the clouds. 



SCENE II. 

Hades.» 

Enter Lccifer and Cain. 

Cain. How silent and how vast are these 

dim worlds ! [peopled 

For they seem more than one, and j'et more 

Than tlie huge brilliant luminous orbs which 

swung 
So thickly in the upper air, that I 
Had deem'd them rather the bright populace 
Of some all unimaginable heaven. 
Than things to be inhabited themselves. 
But that on drawing near them I beheld 
Their swelling into palpable immensity [on, 
Of matter, which seem'd made for life to dwell 
Bather than life itself. But here, all is 
So shadowy and so full of twilight, that 
It speaks of a day past. 

Lucifer. It is the realm 

Of death. — Wouldst have it present ? 

Cain. 'Till I know 

That which it really is, I cannot answer. 
But if it be as I have heard my father 
Deal out in his long homilies, 't is a thing — 
Oh God! I dare not think on 't! Cursed be 
He who invented life that leads to death! 
Or the dull mass of life, that, being life, 
Could not retain, but needs must forfeit it — 
Even for the innocent ! 
Lucifer. Dost thou curse thy father ? 

Ca'.n. Cursed he not me in giving me my 
birth ? 
Cursed he not me before my birth, in daring 
To pluck the fruit forbidden? 

Lucifer. Thou say'st well : 

The curse is mutual 'twixt thy sire and thee — • 
But for thy sons and brother? 

Cain. Let them share it 

With me, their sire and brother ? What else la 



Bequeath 'd to me ? I leave tliem my inhen. 

tance. 
Oh, ye interminable gloomy realms 
Of swimming shadows and enormous shapes, 
Some fully shown, some indistinct, and aL 
Mighty and melancholy — what are ye? 
Live ye, or have ye lived ? 

Lucifer. Somewhat of both. 

Cain. Then what is death ? 
Lucifer. What ? Hath not he who madeye 
Said 't is another life? 

Cain. Till now he hath 

Said nothing, save that all shall die.9 

Imcifer. Perhaps 

He one day will unfold that fmther secret. 
Cain. Happy the day ! 
Lucifer. Yes; happy! when unfolded 

Through agonies unspeakable, and clogg'd 
With agonies eternal, to innumerable 
Yet unborn myriads of unconscious atoms 
All to be animated tor this only ! [which I see 
Cain. What are these mighty phantoms 
Floating around me? — They wear not the form 
Of the intelligences I have seen 
Kound our regretted and unenter'd Eden, 
Nor wear the form of man as I have view'dij 
In Adam's, and in Abel's, and in mine, 
Nor in my sister-bride's, nor in my children's 
And yet they have an aspect, which, though 

not 
Of men nor angels, looks like something, which 
If not the last, rose higher than the fii-st. 
Haughty, and high, and beautiful, and lull 
Of seeming strength, but of inexpHcable 
Shape ; for I never saw such. They bear not 
The wing of seraph, nor the face of man, 
Nor form of mightiest brute, nor aught that is 
Now breathing ; mighty yet and beautiful 
As the most beautiful and mighty which 
Live, and yet so unlike them, that I scarce 
Can call them living. 

Lucifer. Yet they lived. 

Cain. WTiere ? 

Lucifer. Where 

Thou livest. 

Cain. When? 

Lucifer. On what thou callest earth 

They did inhabit. 

Cain. Adam is the first. 

Lucifer. Of thine, I grant thee — but too 
mean to be 
The last of these. 

Cain. And what are they ? 

Jjucifer. That whicb 

Thou shalt be. 

Cain But what were they ? 

J 2 



XT n 
10 



CAm 



Lv/iiyer Living, high, 

lutelligent, good, gi'eat, aid glerious things, 
As much superior unto all thy sire, 
Adam, could eer have been in Eden, as 
The sixty-thousancUh generation shall be, 
In its dull dam]) degeneracy, to [judge 

Thee and thy son ; — and how weak they are, 
By thy jwn flesh 

C'fl/n. Ah nie ! and did Ihey perish ? 

Lucljer. Yes, from their earth, as thou wilt 
fade from thine. 

Cain. But was mim theirs? 

Lucifer. It was. 

Caiyi. BliI not as now. 

It is too little and too low'.y to 
Sustain such creatures.'^ 

Lucifer. True, it was more glorious. 

Cain. And wherefore did it fall? 

Jjitcifer. Ask him who fells. 

Cain But how? 

Lucifer. By a most crushing and inexorable 
Destruction and disorder ol' the elements. 
Which struck a world to chaos, as a chaos 
Subsiding has struck out a world : such things. 
Though rare in time, are frequent in eternity — 
Pass on, and gaze upon the past. 

Cain. 'T is awful ! 

Lucifer. And true. Behold these phantoms ! 
they were once 
M.aterial as thou ait 

Cain And must I be 

Like them? 

Lucifer. Let He who made thee answer that, 

show" thee what tliy predecessors are, 
\vA what they were thou feelest, in degree 
^n'erior as thy petty feelings and 
Vh Y pettier portion of the iminortid part 
9: high intelligence and earthly strength. 
^. hat ye in common have with what they had 
.s life, and what ye shall have — dcalli ; the rest 
'J;' your poor attributes is such a« suits 
B ^ptiles engender'd out of the subsiding 
SLme of a mighty universe, crush'd into 
K scarccly-yet shaped planet, people 1 vn\h. 
''hings whose enjoyment was to be in 

blindness — 
^ Parachse of Ignorance, from which 
if -lowledge was baird as poison. But behold 
What these superior beings are or were ; 
Or, if it irk thee, turn thee back and till 
'J'he earth, thy task — I '11 waft thee there in 
safety. 

Cam. No: I '11 stay here. 

Lucifer. ' How long? 

Cain. For ever' Since 

I must one day return here .lom the earth. 



I rather would remain; I am sick of all 
That dust has shown me — let me dwell 'n 
shadows. 

Lucifer. It cannot be : tliou now behoxdestaa 
A vision that which is reality. 
To make thyself lit for this dwelling, thou 
Must pass through what the things thou see st 

have pass'd — 
The gates of deatn. [enter'd 

Cain. By what gate have we 

Even now? 

Lucifer. By mine I But, plighted to return. 
My spirit buoys thee up to breathe in regions 
Where all is breathless save thyself. Gaze ou ; 
But do not tliink to dwell hei-e till thine hour 
Is come. [repass 

Cain. And these, too; can tliey ne er 
To earth again? 

Lucifer. Their earth is gone for ever — 
So changed by its convulsion, they would not 
Be conscious to a single present spot 
Of its new scarcely harden'd surface — 't was — 
Oh, what a beautiful world it was.' 

Cain. And is. 

It is not •with the earth, though I must till it, 
I feel at war, but that I may not profit 
By what it bears of beautiful untoiling, 
Nor gratify my thousand swelling thoughts 
With knowledge, nor allay my thousand fears 
Of death and life 

Lucifer. Wliat thy world is, thou see'-si, 
But canst not comprehend the shadow of 
That which it was. 

Cain. And those enormous creatures, 

Phantoms inferior in intelligence [pass'd. 

(At least so seeming) to the things we have 
Resembling somewhat the wild habitants 
Of the deep woods of earth, the hugest which 
Roar nightly in the forest, but ten-fold 
In magnitude and leiTor ; taller than 
The cherub-guarded walls of Eden, with 
Eyes flashing like the fieiy swords A\hich 

fence them. 
And tusks projecting like the trees strippVl o/ 
Their bark and branches — what were they ? 

Lucifer That which 

Tilt Mammotn is in tny world ; — but these Re 
By myriads underneath its surface. 

Cain But 

None on it?'i 

Lucifer. No : for thy frail race to war 
Willi them would render the curse on it 

useless — 
'T woidd be destroy'd so early. 

Cain. But why war t 

Lucifer. You have f<<rgottentliedenunciatio« 



CAIK. 



117 



Which drove your race fi-om Eden — war with 

all things, [ihij'gs. 

A.!id death to all things, and di case to moot 
A.nd pangs, and bitterness; these were the 

fruits 
Of the forbidden ti-ee. 

Cain. But animals — 

Did they, toe , eat of it, that they nmst die ? 
Lucifer. \ our Maker told ye, Uiey wero 
iTKiue for you, [doom 

A.S you for him. — You would not have their 
Supeiior to your own ? Had Adam not 
Fallen, all had stood. 

Cain Alas 1 the hopeless wTetches ! 

They too must share my sire's fate, hke liig 

sons ; [apple ; 

Like them, too, without having shared the 

Like them, too, without the so deai--bought 

knowledge! 
It was a lying tree — for we know nothing. 
At least it promised knowledje at the price 
Of death — but knowledge still : but what 
knows man ? [knowledge ; 

Lucifer. It may be death leads to the' highest 
And bbing of all "things the sole thing certain. 
At least leads to the surest science : therefore 
The tree was trae, though deadly 

Cain. These dim realms ! 

I see them, but I know them not. 

Lucffer. Because 

Thy hour is yet afar, and matter cannot 
Comprehend spint wholly — but 'I is something 
To know there are such realms. 

Cain. We knew already 

That there was death. 

Lucifer. B;it not what was beyond it. 

Cain. Nor know I now. 
Lucifer Thou knowest that there is 

A state, and many states beyond thine own — 
And this thou knewest not this morn. 

Cain But all 

eems dim ani shadowy 

Litcifer. Be content ; it wiU 

eem clearer to thine immoitality. 

Cain. And yon immeasurable liquid space 

Of glo]-ioii-; aziire which floats on beyond us. 

Which looks like water, and which I should 

deem 
The river which flows out of Paradise 
Past my own dwelling, but that it is bankless 
And boundless, and of au ethereal hue — 
What is it? 

Lucifer. There is still some such on earth. 
Although inferior, and thy children shall 
Dwell n( ar it — 't is the phantasm of an ocean. 
Ca >■«. T i s like anotljer world ; a liquid sun — 



And those inordinate creatures tpoiting o'er 
Its shining surface? 

Lucifer. Are its inhabitants, 

The past leviathans. 

Cain. And yon immense [vasi« 

Sei-pent, which rears its diippiug mawe ana 
Head ten times higher than the haughtiest 

cedar 
Forth from the abyss, looking as he could coil 
Himself around the orbs we lately look'd on — • 
Is he not of the kind which bask'd beneath 
The tree in Eden ? 

Lucifer. Eve, thy mother, be*'^ 

Can tell what shape of serpent tempted I^-^r 

Cain. This seems too temble. No d Vib£ 
the other 
Had more of beauty. 

Lucifer. Hast thou ne er beheld W - 

Cain. Many of the same kind (at least » 
call'd), 
Bat never that precisely which persuaded 
The fatal fruit, nor even of the same aspea 

Lucifer. Your father saw him not ? 

Cain. No : 't was my moth* 

WTio tempted him — she tempted by the serpen^ 

Lucifer. Good man! whene'er thy wife, <« 

thy sons' wives [strange 

Tempt thee or them to aught that's new (k 

Be sure thou see'st iirstwhohath tempted //tewt, 

Cain. Thy precept comes too late : there is 
no more 
For serpents to tempt woman to. 

Lucifer. But tliere 

Are some things still which woman may temp*. 

man to, 
And man tempt woman : — ^let thy sons look to 

it! 
My coimsel is a kind one ; for 't is even 
Given chiefly at my own expense : 't is true, 
'T \x\\\ not be follow'd, so there's httle lost 

Cain. I understand not this. 

Lucifer. The happier thou I— 

Thy world and tliou ai-e still too young 1 

Thou thinkest 
Thyself most A^dcked and unhappy : is it 
Not so ? 

Cain. For crime, I know not ; but for pain, 
I h:ivt! felt much. 

Lucifer-. First-bom of the first man ! 

Thy present state of sin — and thou art evil, 
Of SO) TOW — and thou suifirest, are both Edea 
In all its innocence compar«l to what 
Thou shortly may'st be ; and that state again 
In its redoubled viTetchedness, a Paradi>>e 
To what thy sons' sons' sons, accumulating 
In generations like to dust (which they 



118 



CAIN. 



In fact but add to), shall endure and do.— 
Now let us back to earth ! 

Cain. And wherefore didst thou 

Lead me here only to inform me this ? 

Lucifer. Was not thy quest for knowledge ? 

Cain. Yes ; as being 

The road to happiness. 

Lucifer. If trath be so, 

rhou hast it. 

Cain. Then my father's God did well 

When he prohibited the fatal tree. 

Lucifer. But had done better in not planting 
it. 
^<ut ignorance of evil doth not save 
yrom evil ; it must stUl roll on the same, 
A part of all things. 

Cain. Not of all things. No : 

I 'II not beUeve it — for I thirst for good. 

Lucifer. And who and what doth not? 
Who covets evil 
For its own bitter sake ? — None — nothing! 't is 
The leaven of all life, and hfelessness. 

Cain. Within those glorious orbs which 
we behold, 
Distant, and dazzling, and innumerable. 
Ere we came down into this phantom realm, 
'i\ cannot come : they are too beautiful. 

Lucifer. Thou hast seen them from afar — 

Cain. And what of that? 

Distance can but diminish gloiy — they, 
Vhen nearer, must be more ineftUble. 

Lucifer. Approach the things of eai'th most 
beautiful, 
.jid judge their beauty near. 

Cain. I have done this— 

The loveliest thing I know is lovehest nearest. 

Lucifer. Then there must be delusion,— 
What ii that, 
Which being nearest to thine eyes is still 
More beautiful than beauteous things remote? 

Cain. My sister Adah. — All the stars o. 
heaven, 
The deep blue noon of night, lit by an orb 
Which looks a spirit, or a spirit's world — 
The hues of twlight — the sun's gorgeous 

coming — - 
His setting indescribable, which fills 
My eyes with pleasant tears as I behold [him 
Him sink, and feel my heart float sofdy with 
Along that western paradise of clouds — 
The forest shade — the green bough — the bird's 

voi«;e — 
The vesper bird's, which seems to sing of love, 
^nd mingles with the song of cherubim. 
As the day closes over Eden's walls ; — 
All these are nothing, to my eyes and heart, 



Like Adah's face: I turn from earth sai 

heaven 
To gaze on it. ^ 

Lucifer. 'T is fair as frail mortality, 

In the hrst dawn and bloom of young creation, 
And eailiest embraces of earth's parents, 
Can make its oli'.>priug ; still it is deiusion. 

Cain. You think so, being not her brother, 

Lucifer. Moit^d ! 

My brotherhood's with those who have nu 
childi'eu. 

Cain. Then thou canst have no fellowship 
with us. 

Lucifer. It may be that thine own shall be 
for me. 
But if thou dost possess a beatxtifid 
Being beyond all beauty in thine eyea. 
Why art \hou wretched ? 

Cain. Why do I exist? 

Why art thou wretched ? why are all things so? 
Ev'n he who made us must be, as the maker 
Of things unhappy ! To produce destruction 
Can surely never be the task of joy. 
And yet my sire say:>; he 's omnipotent : 
Then why is evil — he being good ? I ask'd 
This question oi my father ; and he said, 
Because this evil only was the path [out 

To good. Strange good, that must arise from 
Its deadly opposite. I lately saw 
A lamb stung by a reptile : the poor suclding 
Lay foaming on tlie earth, beneath the vain 
And piteous bleating of its restless dam ; 
My lather pluck'd some herbs, and laid them to 
The wound ; and by degrees the helpless wretch 
Resumed its careless lite, and rose to drain 
The mother's milk, who o'er u tremulous 
Stood licking its reviving limbs with joy. 
Beliokl, my son! said Adam, how lioai evil 
Springs good ! 

Lucifer. What didst tbou answer ? 

Cain. Notking ; fc 

He is my father : but I thought, that 't were 
A better portion for the animal 
Never to have been stung at all, than to 
Purchase renewal of its little liie 
With agonies unutterable, though 
Dispell'd by antidotes. 

Lucifer. But as thon saidst 

Of all beloved things thou lovest hei 
Who shai'ed thy mother's milk, and giveth hara 
Unto thy children 

Cain. Most assuredly : 

What should I be without her ? 

Lucifer. What am I ' 

Cain. Dost thou love nothing? 

Lucifer What does thy God love? 



CAIN. 



119 



Cain. All things, my fatt.er says ; ont I 
cont'ess 
I see il not in their aUo^ment hci-e. fif / love 

Lucifer. And, thtrerurc, tliou ciuist not see 
Or no, except soinc vast and general pui-pose, 
To which jiaiticuliu' things must melt like 
snows 

Cain. Snows! what are they? 

Lucifer. Be happier in not knowing 

^Vhat tliy remoter olFspring must encounter ; 
But bask beriCiith the cliuie which knows no 
winter [like thyself? 

Cain. But dost thou not love something 

Lucifer. And dost thou love thyself? 

Cain. Yes, but love mort 

^hat makes my feelings more endurable, 
h.nd is more than myself, because i love it. 

Lucifer. Thou lovest it, because 't is beau 
tifni, 
^s was the apple in thy mc^ther's eye ; 
And when it ceases to be so, thy love 
Will cease, like any other appetite. [be? 

Cain. Cease to be beautiful I how can that 

Lucifer. With time. 

CaiH. But time has past, and hitherto 

Even Adam and my mQther both are fair: 
Not fair like Adah and tlie seraphim — 
But very fair. 

Lucifer. All that must pass away 

[n them and her. 

Cain. I 'm sony for it : but 

Cannot conceive my love for her the less. 
4nd when her beauty disappears, metliinks 
He who creates all beauty will lose more 
Than me in seeing perish such a work. 

Lucifer. I pity tliee who lovest what must 
perish. 

Cam. And I thee who lov'st nothing. 

Lucifer. And thy brother — 

(jits he not near thy heart ? 

Cain. Why should he not? 

Lucifer. Thy father loves him well — so does 
thy God. 

Cain. And so dr I 

Lucifer. 'T is well and meekly done. 

Cain. Meekly! 

Lucifer. He is the second born of flesh, 
And is his mothers favourite. 

Cain. Let him keep 

Her favour, since the serpent was the first 
To win it. 

Lucifer. And his father's ? 

Cain. \Miat is that 

To me? should I not love that which all love? 

Lucifer. And the Jehovah — the imlulgent 
Lord. 



And l>ounteous planter of barr'd Paratiise 

He, too, looks smilingly on Abel. 

Cain. I 

Ne'er saw kim, and I know not if he smiles. 

Lucifer But you have seen hi.s angels. 

Cain. ' Rarely 

Lucifer. i;m 

Suthciently to see they love your brother . 
His sacrifices are acceptable. 

Cain. So be they ! \v herefore speak to la 
of this? 

Lucifer. Because thou hast thought of this 
ere now. 

Catn. And if 

I have thought, why recall a thought that — ^ 

{!(€ pauses, as agitated) — Spirit! 
Flere we are in Hit/ world : sjieak not of mine. 
Thou hast shown me wonders ; thou haM 

shown me those 
Mighty pi-e-Adamites who walk'd the earth 
Of which ours is the wreck ; thou hast pointed 

out 
Myriads of stany worlds, of which our own 
Is the dim and remote companion, in 
Infinity of lij'e ; thou hast shown me shadows 
Of that existence with the dreaded name 
Which ray sii-e brought us — Death ; thou has 

shown me nuich — 
But not all : show me where Jehovah dwells 
In his especial Paradise, — or thine: 
Where is it? 

±jucrjtr. ifere, and o'er all space. 

Cain. But ye 

Have some allotted dwelling — as all things ; 
Clay has its earth, and otlier worlds theii 

tenants ; 
All temporary breathing creatures their 
Pecidiar element; and things which have 
Long ceased to breathe our breath, have theii-s 

thou say'st ; 
And the Jehovah and thyself have thine — 
Ye do not dwell together? 

Lucifer. No, we reign 

Together ; but our dwellings are asunder. 

Cain. Would there were only one of ye 
perchance 
An unity of purpose might make union 
In elements which seem now jarr'd in storms, 
How came ye, being sinrits, wise and infinite. 
To separate ? Are ye not as brethren in 
Your essence, and your nature, and your glory? 

Lucifer. Art thou not Abel's brother? 

Cain. We are brethren 

And so we s]\all remain; but were it not so, 
Is spirit like to flesh ? can it fall out? 
Infinity witli Immortality? 



120 



CAIN. 



Jarring and turning space to misery — 
For what ? 

Lucifer. To reign. 

Cain. Did ye not tell me that 

e are both eternal? 

Lucifer. Yea! 

Cain. And what I have seen, 

on blue immensity, is boundless? 

Lucifer. ^7- 

Cain. And cannot ye both reign then ? — 
is there not 
Enough ? — why should ye diiTer ? 

Lucifer. We hoth reign 

Cain. But one of you makes evil. 

Lucifer. 'Which? 

Cain. Thou! loi 

If thou canst do man good, why dost thou not? 

Lucifer. And why not he who made ? / 
made ye not : 
Ye are his creatures, and not mine. 

Cain. Then leave us 

His creatures, as thou say'st we ai-e, or show me 
Thy dwelling, or his dwelling. 

Lucifer. • I could show thee 

Both ; but the time will come thou shalt see one 
Of them for evennore. 

Cain. And why not now ? 

Lucifer. Thy human mind hath scarcely 
grasp to gather 
The little I have shown thee into calm 
And clear thought ; and thou wouldst go on 

aspiring 
To the gieat double Mysteries ! the two Prin- 
ciples. '^^ 
And gaze upon them on their secret tlirones ! 
Dust! limit thy ambition; lor to see 
Either ot tliese, would be for tliee to perish ! 

Cain. And let me perish, so I see them ! 

Lucifer. There 

The son of her who snatch'd the apple spake ! 
But ihou wouldst only perish, and not see tlaem ; 
Tiat sight is for the other state. 

Cain. Of death? 

Lucifer. That is the prelude. 

Cain. Then I dread it less. 

Now that I know it leads to something definite 

Lucifer. And now I will convey thee to thy 

worid. 

WTiere thoii shalt multiply the race of Adam, 

Eat, drink, toil, tremble, luugh, weep, sleep, 

and die. [things 

Ct'n. And to what end have I beheld iliese 
Which thou hast shown me ? 

Lucifer. Dulst thou not require 

Knowledge? Andhavelnol, iuwhatlshow'd. 
Taught thee to know thyself? 



Cain. A as ! I seen 

Nothing. 

Lucifer. And this should be the human stin 
Of Imowledge, to know mortal nature's no 

thingness : 
Bequeath that science to thy childi-en, and 
'T will spaie them many tortures. 

Cain. Haughty spirit 

Thou speak'st it proudly ; but thyself, though 

proud. 
Hast a superior. 

Lucifer. No I by heaven, which He 

Holds, and the abyss, and the immensity [No! 
Of worlds and life, which I hold with him— 
1 have a victor — true ; but no superior. 
Homage he has from all — but none fron mj 
I battle it against him, as I battled 
In highest heaven. Through all etenaity. 
And the unfathomable gidis of Hades, 
And the inteiTninable realms of space, 
And the infinity of endless ages. 
All, all, will I dispute ! And woild by work* 
And star by star, and universe by universe. 
Shall tremble in the balance, till the great 
Conflict shall cease, if ever it shall cease. 
Which it ne'er shall, till he or I be qaencJi'd 
And what can quench our immoitality. 
Or mutual and in-evocable hate ? 
He as a conqueror will call ine conquer'd 
Evil; but what will be ihe good he gives? 
Were I the victor, his works would be deem'a 
The only evil ones. And you, ye new [giits 
And scarce born mortals, what have been his 
To you already, in your little world ?i3 

Cain Butlewl and sonie of those but bitter. 

Lucifer. Back 

W^ith me, then, to thine earth, and try the 

rest 
Of his celestial boons to you and yours. 
Evil and good are things in their own essence, 
And not made good or evil by the giver ; 
But if he gives you good — so call him ;. if 
Evil springs from him, do not name it n>.i}te, 
Till ye know better its tnie fount ; and judge 
Not "by words, though of spirits, but the iruiti 
Of your existence, such as it must be. 
One good gift has the fatal apple given-- 
Your reason : — let it not be over sway d 
By tyrannous threats to force you into faith 
'Gainst all external sense and inward feeling. 
Think and endure. — and foim an inner world 
In yoar (nvn bosom — where the aitwaiii 

fails ; 
So shall you nearer be the spiritual 
Nature, and wai' triiunphant with your own. 
n'h«y disappe** 



CAIN. 



121 



ACT III. 

SCENE I. 

* 

T!u Earth near Eden, as in Act I. 

Enter Cain and Adah. 
Adah. Hush! tread softly, Cain, 
Cain. I will ; but wherefore ? 

Adah. Our httle Enoch sleeps upon yon bed 
Of leaves, beneath the cypress. 

Cain. ' Cypress! 'tis 

A gloomy tree, which looks as if it mourn'd 
O'er what it shadows ; wherefore didst thou 

choose it 
For our child's canopy ? 

Adah. Because its branches 

Shut out the sun like night, and therefore 

seem'd 
Fitting to shadow slumber, 

Cain. Ay, the last — 

And longest ; but no matter — lead me to him 
iThcy go up to the child. 
II ow lovely he appears ! his little cheeks. 
In their pure incarnation, vying with 
The rose leaves strewi. beneath them. 

Adah. And his lips, too, 

Kow beautifully parted ! No ; you shdl not 
Kiss him, at least not now : he will awake 

soon — 
His hour of mid-day rest is nearly over; 
But it w^ere pity to disturb him till 
T is closed. 

Cain. You have said well ; I will contain 
My heart till then. He smiles, and sleeps !— 

Sleep on 
And smile, thou httle, young inheritor [smile ! 
]' a world scarce less young-: sleep on, and 
I nine are the hours and days when both are 
'i cheering 

'^ lid innocent I </jo?(hastnotpluck'd the fruit — 

nou k7<nw'.st not thou an naked ' Must the 

time 

Come thou shalt be amerced for sins unknown. 

Which were not mine nor tliine? But now 

sleep on ! 
His cheeks are reddening into deeper smiles, 
And shining lids are trembling o'er his long 
Lashes, dark as the cypress which waves o'er 

them ; 
Half open, from beneath them <he clear blue 
liaughs out, although in s!umber. He must 

dream — 
Of what ? Of Paradise !— Ay ! dream of it, 
Nly disinherited boy I 'T is Vut a dreair . 



For never more thyself, thy sons, nor fathe's, 
Shall walk in that forbidden place of joy I 

Adah. Dear Cain ! Nay, do not whispe. 
o'er our son 
Such melancholy yearnings o'er the past: 
Why wi'f, thou ahvays mourn for Paradise? 
Can we not make another? 

Cain. Where? 

Adah. Here, oi 

Where'er Inoii wilt : where er thou art, I feel no 
The •^-anl of this so much regretted Eden. 
Have 1 not Uiee, our buy, our sire, and brother. 
And Zillah — our sweet sister, and our Eve, 
To whom we owe so much besides our birth? 

Cain. Yes — death, too, is amongst tht 
debts w^e owe her. [drew thee hence, 

Adah. Cam '. that proud spirit, who with 
Hath sadden'd thine still deeper. I had hopc^ 
The promised wonders which thou hast behel(i 
Visions, thou say'st, of past and present worlds 
Would have composed thy mind into the calu 
Of a contented knowledge ; but I see [hiin, 
Tliy guide hath done thee evil: still I thank 
And can forgive him all, that he so soon 
Hath given thee back to us. 

Cain. So soon? 

Allah. 'T is scs^uj 

Two hours since ye departed : two long hours 
To me, but only hours upon the sun. 

Cain. And yet I have approaoh'd that sun, 
and seen 
Worlds which he once shone on, and nevermore 
Shall light ; and worlds he never lit : mcthought 
Years had roU'd o'er my absence. 

ylda h. Hardly hours. 

Cain. The mind then hath capacity of time. 
And measures it by that which it beholds. 
Pleasing or painful ; little or almighty 
I had beheld the immemorial works 
Of endless beings; skirr'd extinguish 'd worlds, 
And, gazing on eternity, methought 
I had bcrrow'd more by a few drjps of ages 
From its immensity ; but now J leel 
My littleness again. Well said the sjiirit, 
That I was nothing ! 

Adah. Wherefore said he soj 

Jehovah said not that. 

Cain. TiJo: he contents hiix 

.With making us the nothing which we ai-e ; 
And after flattering dust with glimjses of 
Eden and Immortality, resolves 
It back to dust again — for what ? 

Adah. Thou know st— 

Even for our pai'ents* eiTor 

Cain. What is thaj 

To us I they sinn'd. then let iJiem die! 



122 



CAIN. 



Adah. Thi;u bast not spoken well, nor is 
tnat thought 
Tt.y own, but of the spirit who was with thee. 
Would 7 could die for them, so they might live ! 
Cc:n. Why, so say I — provided that one 
victim 
Might satiate the insatiable of life. 
And that our little rosy sleeper tliere 
Kight never taste of death nor human soiTOW 
Korhand itdown to those who spring from him. 
Adah. How know we that scroc such atone 
ment one day 
Mav not redeem our race? 

Cain. By sacrificing 

The hannless for th J guilty? what atonement 
Were there? why, we are innocent: what 

have we 
D(me, that we must be victims for a deed 
Hefore our birth, or need have victims to 
Atone for this mysterious, nameless sin — 
If it be such a s.a to seek for knowledge? ^ 
Adah. Alas! thou sinnest now, my Cain: 
thy words 
Sound impious in mine ears. 

Cain, Then leave me ! 

Adah. Never, 

Tnougli thy God left thee. 

Cain. Say, what have we here ? 

Adah. Two altars, which our brother Abel 
made 
During tliine absence, whereupon to offer 
A sacrifice to God on thy return. 

Cain. And how knew he, that I would be 
so ready 
With the burnt offerings, which he daily brings 
With a meek brow, whose base humility 
Shows moi-e of fear tlian worship, as a bribe 
To the Creator? 

Adah. Surely, 't is well done. 

Cain. One altar may suffice ; I have no 

offering. 
Adah. The fruits of the earth, the eariy, 
beautiful 
Blossom and bud, and bloom of flowers and 

fruits, 
These are a goodly offering to the Lord, 
Given with a gentle tuid a contrite spirit. 
Cain. I have toil'd, and till'd, and sweaten 
in the sun 
According to the curse: — ^mast I do more? 
For what should I be gentle ? for a war 
With all the elements ere they will yield 
The bread we eat ? For what must I be grateful . 
For being dust, and grovelling in the dust. 
Till I return to dust? If I am nothing — 
For nothing shall I be an hypocrite, 



And seem well-pleased with pain ? For wha; 

should I 
Be contrite.^ lor my lather's sin, already 
Expiate with what we all have undergone, 
And to be more than expiated by 
The ages prophesied, upon our seed. 
Little deems our young blooming f ieeper, ther» 
The germs of au eternal nii.-ery 
To myriads is within him I better i were 
Isnatch'd him in Ids sleep, and dasb'd li 

'gainst 
The rocks, than let him live to 

Adah. Oh, my God 

Touch not the child — my child I Ihy child I 

Oh Cain ! ' [powei 

Cain. Fear not ! for all the stars, and all the 

Which sways them, I would not accost yon 

infant 
With ruder gi-eeting than a father's kiss. 
Adah. Then, why so awful in thy speech? 
Cain. i said, 

'T were better that he ceased to ive, than give 
Life to so much of sorrow as he must 
Endure, and, harder still, be(iueath; but since 
That saying jars you, let us only say — 
'T were better that he never had been bcrn. 
Adah. Oh, do not say so! Where were 
then the joys, 
The mother's joys of watching, nourishing, 
And loving him ? Soft ! lie awakes. Sweet 
Enoch! ' [She goes to the chid. 
Oh Cain! look on him ; see how lull of 'ife, 
Of strength, of bloom, of beauty, and of joy. 
How like to me — how like to thee, when ; .ntle. 
For then we are all alike ; is 't not so, Cain ? 
Mother, and sire, and son, our features ai'e 
Reflected in each other ; as they are 
In tlie clear waters, wheu they are gentle, and 
When thou art gentle. Love us, then, my Cain ! 
And love thyself for our sakes, lor we love thee 
Look I how he laughs and stretches out his imns 
And opens wide his blue eyes upon thine, 
To hail his father; while his liille form 
Flutters as wing'd with joy . Talk not of pain 
The childless cherubs well might envy thee 
The pleasures of a pai'ent ! Bless htm, Cain . 
As yet he hath no words to tliank thee, but 
His heart will, and thine own too. 

Cain. Bless thee, boy i 

If that a mortal blessing may avail thee, 
To save thee from the se]i3ent's cm'se ! 

Adah. It shall 

Surely a father's blessing may avert 
A reptile's subtlety. 

Cain. Of that I doubt ; 

But bless him ne'er the less. 



CAIN. 



12r, 



Adah. Our brother comes. 

Gain. Thy brother Abel. 

Enter Abel. 
Abel. Welcome, Cain ! My brother, 

TIjc peace of God be on thee ! 

Cain. Abel, hail I 

Ahel. Our sister tells me that thou hast been 
wandering, 
/ii high communion with a spirit, far 
Beyond our wonted range. Was he of those 
We have seen and spoken with, like to our 
father.? 
Cain. No. [may be 

Abel. Why then commune with him ? he 
A foe to the Most High 

Cain. And friend to man. 

Has the Most High been so — if so you tenn him ? 
dhel. Term him! your words are strange 
to-day, my brother. 
My sister Adah, leave us for awhile — 
\^'e mean to sacrifice. 

Adah. Farewell, my Cain ; 

But first embrace thy soti. May his s{)ft:5j>j<it. 
And Abel's pious ministry, recall thee 
To peace and holiness I 

lExit Adah, with her child. 
Abel. Where hast thou been ? 

Cain. I know not. 

Abel. Nor what thou hast seen ? 

Cain. The dead, 

The immortal, the unbounded, the omnipotent, 
The overpowering mysteries of space — 
The innumerable worlds that were and are — 
A whirlwind of such overwhelming things, 
Suns, moons, and earths, upon their loud 

voiced spheres 
Singnig in thunder round me, as have made me 
Unfit for mortal converse : leave me, Abel. 
Abel. Thine eyes are flashing with unnatm'al 
light- 
Thy cheek is flush'd with an unnatural hue — 
Thy words are fraught with an unnatural 

sound — 
What may this mean ? 

Cain. It means 1 pray thee, leave me. 

Abel. Not till we have pray' d and sacrificed 

together. 
Cain. Abel, 1 pray thee, sacrifice alone — 
Jehovah loves thee well. . 

Abel. Both well, I hope. 

Cain. But thee the better: I care not for that; 
Thou art fitter for his worship than I am ; 
Revere lim, then — but let it be alone — 
At least without m \ 
Abel. Brother, I should ill 



Deserve the name of our great father's son, 
If, as my elder, I revered thee not. 
And in the worship of our God cali'd not 
On thee to join me, and precede me in 
Our jjiiesthood — 't is thy place. 

Cain. But I have nc'ei 

Asserted it. 

Abel. The more iry grief; I pray the« 

To do so now : thy soul seems labouring in 
Some strong delusion ; it will calm thee. 

Cain. No ; 

Nothing can calm me more. Calm! sayl? 

Never 
Knew I what calm was in the soul, although 
I have seen the elements still'd. My Abel, leave 

me ! 
Or let me leave thee to thy pious purpose. 
Abel. Neither ; we must perforai our task 
together. 
Spurn me not. 

Cain. If it must be so well, then 

What shall I do ? 

Abel. Choose one of those two altars. 

Cain. Choose forme: they to me are so 
much tiirf 
And stone. 

Abel. Choose thou ! 

Cain. I bave chosen. 

Abel. 'Tis the highest, 

And suits thee, as the elder Now prepai'e 
Thine ofierings. 

Cain. Where are thine ? 

Abel. Behold them here— 

Tlie firstlings of the flock, and fat thereof — 
A shepherd's humble ofl"ering. 

Cain. I have no flocks 

I am a tiller of the ground, and must 
Yield what it yieldeth to my toil — its fniit 

[He gathers fruits 
Bebc\1 them in their vai'ious bloom anc 
ripeness. 

\_Tliey dresstheir altars, andkindle o 
Jlame upon tliem. 
Abel. My brother, as tlie elder, offer first 
Thy prayer and thanksgiving with sacrifice. 
Cain. No — I am new to this ; lead thou 
the way. 
And I will ibllow — as I may. 

Abel (kneeling). Oh God ' 

Who made us, and who breathed the breatl: 

of life 
Within our nosti'ils, who hath blessed us 
And spared, despite our father's sin, to make 
His children all lost, as they might have been 
Had not thy justice been so temper'd with 
The mercy which is thy delight, as to 



124 



CAIN. 



Accord a pardon like a Paradise, [of liglitl 
Compared with our great crimes: — Sole Lord 

good, and glory, and eternity ; 

Without whom all were evil, and with whom 
Nothing can err, except to some good end 
Oi thine omnipotent l.enevolence — 
Inscrutable, but still to be fulfiird — 
Ac{;ept from out thy bumble first of shepherd's 
Fir^t of the first-born flocks— an offering, 
In itself nothing — as what offering can be 
Alight unto thee? — but yet accept it for ^ 
Tile thaiiKsgiving ol' him who spreads it in 
The face of thy high heaven, bowing his own 
Even to the dust, of which he is, in honour 
Of tliee, and of thy name, for eveimore ! 

Cain {standing erect during this speech). 
Spirit 1 whate'er or whosoe'er thou art, 
Omnipotent, it may be — and, if good, 
Sliown in the exemption of thy deeds from evil ; 
Jehovah upon earth ! and God in heaven. 
And it may be with other names, because 
Thine attributes seem many, as thy works:— 
If thou must be propitiated with prayers. 
Take them 1 If thou must heiuducedwith altars, 
And soften'd with a sacrifice, receive them ! 
Two beings here erect them unto thee. 
if thou lov'st blood, the shepherd's shrine 

which smokes 
On my right hand, hath shed it for thy service 
In the first of his flock, \\hose limbs now reek 
In sanguinary incense to thy skies , 
Or if the sweet and blooming fruits of earth,^ 
And milder seasons, which the unstain'd turf 

1 spread them on now offers in the face 

Of the broad sun which ripen'd them, may seem 
Good to thee, inasmuch as they have not 
Suffer'd in limb or life, and rather form 
A sample of thy works, than supplication 
To look on om-s ! If a shrine without victim. 
And altar without gore, may win thy favour. 
Look on it ! and for him who dresseth it. 
He is — such as thou mad'st him; and seeks 

no liing 
Which must be won by kneeling if he's evil, 
Strike him ! thou ail omnipotent, and may'st — 
For what can he oppose ? If he be good, 
Strike him, or spare him, as thou%\-ilt! since all 
Rests upon thee ; and good and evil seem 
To have no power themselves, save in thy will; 
And whether that be good or ill I know not, 
Mot being omnipotent, nor fit to judge 
Omnipotence, but merely to endure 
Its mandate; which thus far I have endured. 
\Tlie fire u}: on the altar of Abel 
kindles into a column of the 
brig^st Jlame, and ascends to 



heaven, while a whir'winA 
throws down the altar of Cain, 
ajid scatters the fruits abroad 
uj'on the earth. 
Abel, {kneeling). Ch, brother, pray! Jeh.« 

vidi's wroth with thee. 
Cain. Why so? 

Ahel. Thy fruits are scatter'd on the eaith. 
Cain. From earth they came, to earth J el 
them return; [summe. 

Their seed will bear fresh fruit there ere tlit 
Thy burnt fiesh-off"ring prospers better ; see 
How heav'n licks up the flames, when thick 
with blood ! 
Ahel. Think not upon my offering's accept- 
ance. 
But make another of tliine own before 
It is too late 

Cain. I will build no more altars, 

Nor suffer any. — 

Ahel [rising). Cain! what meanest thou? 
Cain. To cast down yon vile flatterer oi 
the clouds. 
The smoky harbinger of thy dull pray'rs — 
Thine altar, with its blood of lambs and kids 
W'hich fed on milk, to be destroy 'd in blood. 
Abel {opposing him). Thou shaltnot: — add 
not impious works to impious 
Words ! let that altar stand — 'tis hallow'd now 
By the immortal pleasure of Jehovah, 
In his acceptance of the victims. 

Cain. His ! 

His pleasure! what was his high pleasure iji 
The fumes of scorching flesh and smoking blood , 
To the pain of the bleating mothers, which 
Still yeani for their dead offspring ? or thepangi 
Of the sad ignorant victims underneath 
Thy pious knife? Giveway! this bloody record 
Shall not stand in the sun, to shame creation! 
Ahel. Brother, give back! thou shalt not 
touch my altar 
With violence : if that thou v^nlt adopt it, 
To tiy another sacrifice, 't is thine. 

Cain. Another sacrifice ! Gi ve way, or else 

That sacrifice may be 

Ahel. WhaX mean'st thou ? 

Cain. Give- 

Give way ! — thy God loves blood ! — then look 

to it :— 
Give way, ere he hath more! 

Ahel. In his great name, 

I stand between thee and the shr'ne which hatb 
Had his acceptance. 

Cait. If thou lov st thyself. 
Stand back till I have sti-ew'd tlis tiuf aloof 
Its native soil :— else 



CAIN. 



12c^ 



Abel [opposing hm). I love God far more 
Tnc^a lie. 

{strikitig him with a brand, on the 

teriiples, which he snatches from the 

altar). 

Cain, Then tike thy life unto thy God, 

SiiK-c he loves lives. [brother ? 

Ahel ifaUs). W)iat hast thou done, my 

Vaiit. Brother! 

Abel. Oh, God ! receive thy servant, and 
iTorgive his slayer, for he knew not what 
lie did — Cain, g:ive me — give me thy hand; 
and tell 

Poor Zillah 

Cain [after a moment's stupefaction). My 
haiid ! 'tis all red, and with — 
What? 

[A long pause. — Looking slowly 

round. 

Where am I ? alone ! Where 's Abel ? where 

Cain? Can it be that I am he ? My brother. 

Awake! — why liest thou soon the green earth? 

'T is not the hour of shunber ; — \\ hy so pale ? 

WTiat, hast thou! thou wert full of life 

this morn! ' 
Abel! I pray thee, mock me not! I smote 
Too fieicely, but not fatally. Ah, why 
Wouldst thou ojipose me? This is mockery; 
4nd only done to daunt me : — 't was a blow — 
And but a blow. Stir — stir — nay, only stir ! 
Why, so — that's well! — thoubreatJi'st! breathe 

upon me! 
Oh, G od ! Oh, God ! [of God ? 

Abel [very faintly). What 'she who speaks 
Cain. Thy murderer. 

Ahel. Then may God forgive him! Cain, 
Comfort poor Zillah : — she has but one brother 
Now. [Abel dies. 

Cain. And I none! — ^Wlio makes me bro- 
therles£ ? 
His eyes are ojien! then he is not dead! [lids. 
Death is like sleep; and sleep shuts down our 
His lips, too, are apart; why then he breathes ! 
And yet I fef^l it not. — Hisheart! — hisheart! — 

Let me see, doth it beat? methinks No ! — 

no ! 
This !s a vision, else T am become 
The native of another and worse world. 
The earth swims roimd me: — what is this? — 
'tis wet; 

\_Put8 his hand to his broiv, and 
then looks at it. [blood — 

And yet there are no dews! 'T is blood — my 
My brother's and my own ! and shed by me ! 
Then what have I further to do with life, 
Siace I have taken life from my own flesh ? 



But he can not be dead! — Is silence c?ath' 
No; he will wake: then let me wale 1 1 ; tiira 
Life cannot be so slight, as to be quench'd 
Thus quickly! — he hath spoken to me since — 
Whatshalllsayto him? — My brother! — No 
He will not answer to that name; for brethren 
Smite not each other. Yet — yet — speak to mt 
Oh ! for a word more of that gentle voice, 
That I may bear to hear my own again ' 

Enter Zillah. 
Zillah. I heard a heavy sound ; what can il 

be? [What 

'T is Cain; and watching by my husband 
Dost thou there, brother? Doth he sleep? 

Oh, heav'n! [No, no! 

What means this paleness, and yon stream ? — 
It is not blood ; for who would shed his bloon? 
Abel! what's this ! — who hath done this ? He 

moves not; [from mine 

He breathes not': and his hands drop dow >i 
With stony lifelessness ! Ah! cruel Cain ! 
"V^'^hy cam'st thou not in time to save him from 
This violence? Whatever hath assaii'd him, 
Thou wert the stronger, and should'st have 

stepp'd in 
Between him and aggression ! Father ! — 

Eve!— 
Adah! — come hither ! Death is in the world 
[_E.rit Zillah, calling on her Parents, ^c 
Cain [solus). And who hath brought him 

there? — I — who abhor 
The name of Death so deeply, that the thought 
Empoison'd all my life, before I knew 
His aspect — I have led him here, and giv'u 
My brother to his cold and still embrace. 
As if he would not have asserted his 
Inexorable claim without my aid 
I am awake at last — a dreaiy dream 
Had madden'd me ; — but he shall ne'er awake . 

Enter Adam, Eve, Adah, and Zillah. 
Adam. A voice of woe from Zillah bringj 
me here. — [son 

What do I see? — "£ is true! — My son ! — mj 
Woman, behold the serpent's work, and thine;. 
[To Evr.. 
Eve. Oh! speak not of it now: the serpent's 
fangs 
Are in my heart. My best beloved, Abel' 
Jeliovah ! this is pimishment beyond 
A mother's sin, to take him from me ! 

Adam. ^Tio 

Or what hath done this deed ? — speak, Cain 

since thou 
Wert p/ esent ; was it some more hostile angel 



126 



CAIN. 



Wt-.o .ralks not with Jehovah ? or some wild 
Brute r»f the forest ? 

Eve. Ah I a livid light [brand, 

Breaks through, as from a thmider-cloud I yon 
Massy and bloody ! snatch'd from off the altar. 

And black with smoke, and red with 

Adam. Speak, my son ! 

Speak, and assure us, wretched as we are, 
.lljat we are not more miserable still. 

Adah. Speak, Cain! and say it was not thou i 
Eve It was. 

I see it now — ^lie hangs his guilty head, 
And covers his ferocious eye with hands 
Incarnadine 

Adah. Mother, thou dost him wrong — 
Cain! clear thee from this horrible accusal, 
Wliich giief wi'ings from our parent. 

Eve. Heai-, Jehovah ! 

May the eternal sei-pent's curse be on him ! 
For he was titter for his seed than ours. 

Mav all his days be desolate. May 

Adah. • Hold! 

Curse him not, mother, for he is thy son — 
Curse him not, mother, for he is my brother. 
And my betroth'd. 

Eve. He hath left thee no brother — 

Zillah no husband — me no son ! — for thus 
I curse him from my sight for evermore ! 
All bonds I break between us ! as he broke 

That of his nature, in yon Oh death! death! 

Why didst thou not take ?««, who first incmT'd 

thee ? 
■Why dost thou not so now? 

Adam. Eve! let not this, 

Thy natural grief, lead to impiety ! 
A heavy doom was long forespoken to us ; 
And now that it begins, let it be borne 
In such sort as may show our God, that we 
Are faithful servants to his holy will. 

Eve [pcinting to C'ai?i) His will ,' the will 
of yon incarnate spirit 
Of death, whom I have brought upon the earth 
To strew it with the dead. May all the curses 
Of life be on him! and his agonies 
Drive him forth o'er the wilderness, like us 
From Eden, till his children do by him 
As he did by ?iis brother! May the swords 
And wings of fiery cherubim pursue him 
By day and night — snakes spring up in his 

path — 
E arth's fruits be ashes in his mouth — the leaves 
On which he lays his head to sleep be strew'd 
With scoi-pions ! May his dreams be of his 

victim! 
His waking a continual dread of death ! 
Mav the clear rivers turn to blood, as h« 



Stoops down to stain them Avith his raging lip 
May every element shun or change to himf 
May he live in the pangs which othtrsdie with! 
And death itself wax something worse ia?j\ 

death 
To him who first acquainted him with man ! 
Hence, fratricide! hcncefoith that word is Cu U 
Through all the coming myriads of manlciud. 
Who shall abhor thee, though thou vsert theii 

sire ! 
May the gi-ass wither from thy feet! the woods 
Deny thee shelter ! earth a home I the dust 
Agi-ave! the sun his light! andheavenherGod' 
[Exit EvB 
Adam. Cain! get thee forth; we dwell no 
more together. 

Depart! and leave the dead to me 1 am 

Henceforth alone — we never must meet more. 
Adah. Oh, part not with him thus, iin 
father: do not 
Add thy deep ciu'se to Eve's upon his head '. 
Adam. I curse him not : his spiritbe his curse 
Come, Zillah' 

Zillah. I must watch my husband's corse. 
Adam. We will return again, when heisgonc 
Who hath provided for us this dread office. 
Come, Zillah. 

Zillah. Yet one kiss on yon pale clay, 

And those lips once so wann — my heart! my 
heart 
lExeunt Adam and Zillah, weepiiuj 
Adah. Uain ! thou hast heard, we must go 
forth. I am ready. 
So shall our children be. 1 will bear Enoch 
And you his sister. Ere the sun declines 
Let us depart, nor walk the wilderness 
Under the cloud of night. Nay, speak to me. 
To me — thine own. 

Cain. Leave me! 

Adah. Why, all have left f t 

Cam. And wherefore lingerest thou? i t 
thou not fear 
To dwell with one who hath done this? 

Adah. ^ I feaf 

Nothing except to leave thee, much as I 
Shrink from the deed which leaves thee brotl»;r 

less. 
I must not speak of this — it is between thee 
And the great God. 

A voice from within exclaims, Cain! Cain 
Adah. Hear'st thou that voice ' 

The voice within. Cain! Cain! 
Adah. It soundeth like an angoJ's ton* 

Enter the Angel of the Lord. 
Angel. Where is thy brother Abel ? 



CAIN. 



12' 



Cain. Am I then 

My brothers keeper? 

Angel. Cain I what hast thou clone? 

The voice of thy slain bntther's blood cries out, 
Even from the ground, unto the Lord! — Now 
art thou [mouth 

Cursed from the earth, which open'd late her 
To drink thy brother's blood from thy rash hand. 
Henceforth, wiien thou shalt till the grouiid, 

it shall not 
Yield thee her strength ; a fugitive shalt thou 
Be from this day, and vagabond on earth ! 

Adah. This punishment is more than he can 
bear. 
Behold, thou drivest him from the face of earth, 
And from the face of God shall he be hid. 
A fugitive and vagabond on earth, 
'T will come to pass, that whoso findeth him 
Shall slay him. 

Cain. Would they could ! but who are they 
Shall slay me ? Where are these on the lone earth 
As yet unpeopled? 

Angel. Thou hast slain thy brother, 

And who shall warrant thee against thy son? 

Adah. Angel of Light! be merciful, nor say 
That this poor aching bre;i;:t now nourishes 
A murderer in my boy, and of his father, [is. 

Angel. Then he would but be what his father 
Did not the milk of Eve give nutriment 
To him thou now see'st so besmear'd with blood? 
The fratricide might well engender parri- 
cides. — 
But it shall not be so — the Lord tliy God 
And mine commandelh me to set his seal 
On Cain, so that he may go forth in safety. 
Who slayethCain,a sevenfold vengeance shall 
Be taken on his head. Come hither! 

Cain. What 

Wouhlst thou with me? 

Angel. To mark upon thy brow 

Exemption from such deeds as thou hast done. 

Cain. No, let me die! 

Angel. It must not be. 

[The Angel sets the mark on Cain's &row. 

Cain. It burns 

My brow, but nought to that which is within it. 
Is there more? let me meet it as 1 may. 

Angel. Stern hast thou been and stubborn 
from the womb. 
As the ground thou must henceforth till ; but he 
Thou slew'st was gentle as the flocks he tended 

Cain. Aiterthe fallloo soon was I begotten; 
Ere yet my mother's mind subsided from 
The sei-pent, and my sire still momii'd for 

Eden. 
That which I am, I am; I did not seek 



For life, nor did I make myself; but could I 
Willi my own death redeem him from the dust— • 
And why not so? let him return to day, 
And I lie ghastly I so shall be restored 
By God the life to him he loved; and taken 
From me a being I ne'er loved to bear. 
Angel. Who shall heal murder? what ij 
done is done ; 
Go forth! fulfil thy days! and be thy deeds 
Unlike the last! [The Angkl disappea>'$ 
Adah. He's gone, let us g(j forth • 

I hear our little Enoch cry within 
Our bower. 

Cain. Ah! little knows he what he weeps 
for ! 
And I who have shed blood caimot shea 

tears ! 
But tlie four rivers!'* would not debase my 

soul. 
Think'st thou my boy will bear to look oii 
me? 
Adah. If I thought that he would not, J 

would — 
Cain {interrupting her). No, 

No more of threats : we have had too man^ 

of them : 
Go to our children ; I will follow thee ? 
Adah. I will not leave thee lonely with tlje 
dead; 
Let us depart together. 

Cain. Oh ! thou dead 

And everlasting witness ! whose unsinking 
Blood darkens earth and heaven ! what thou 

now art 
I know not ! but if thou see'st what I am, 
I think thou -wilt forgive him, whom his God 
Can ne'er forgive, noi his own soul — 

Farewell ! 
I must not, dare not touch what I have mad'^ 

thee. 
I, who sprung from the same womb witii 

thee, drain'd 
The same breast, clasp'd thee often to mv 

own. 
In fondness brotherly and boyish, I 
Can never meet thee more, nor even dare 
To do that for thee, which thou shouldsl havt 

done 
For me — compose thy limbs into their grave — 
The first grave yet dug for mortality. 
But who hath dug that gi'ave ? Oh, earth ! 

Oh, earth ! 
For all the fruits thou hast render'd to me, I 
Give thee back this. — Now for the wilderness 
[Adak stoops down and kiinet thi 
body of Auus.. 



128 



CAIN. 



Adak. A dreary, and an early doom, my 

brother 
Has heen thy lot ! Of all who mourn for thee 
I aloiie must n<n Aveep, My office i* 
Henceforth to dry up tears, and not to shed 

them 
But yet, of all who moum, none moura '^te 

me, 
Not only i'ov thyself, hut hnn who slew thee 
i<o\v,Cain ! I will divide thy burden with thee 
Cain. Eastward from Eden -will we take 

oui way r 
Tis the most desolate, and suits my steps. 
Jdah ht.td I ^i«u shalt be my grJde, and 

- &y our God 



Be tliine ' Now le ns cany foith our chil 
dren 
Cain And he who lieth there was child 
less. I 
Have dried the fountain of a gentle race. 
Which might have graced his recent maniage 

couch, 
And might have lemper'd this stern blood 

mine. 
Uniting wiih om* children Abel's offspring' 
Abel! 
Adah. Peace bf with him ! 
Cain, But with vie 

lEweuHt 



^ours of JltJkncss : 



A SERIES OF POEMS, ORIGINAL AND TRANSLATED 



Virgiiiibus puerisqu.; canto. — Horace, lib. iii. Ode 1. 

Msfr aj /jt.i fjt.aX! «7»4s, fcnn ri nUu. — Homer, Iliad, x. 340. 

He whistled as he went, for want of thought. — Dryden. 



PREFACE 

Iv sul milling to the public eye the following 
collection, I have not only to combat the dit- 
fici ikies that writers of verse generally en- 
rouater, but may incur the charge of presump- 
tion lor obtruding myself on the world, when, 
without doubt, I might be, at my age, more 
usefully employed. 

These productions are the fruits of the lighter 
hours of a young man who has lately com- 
pleted his nineteenth year. As they bear the 
intrrnal evidence of a boyish mind, tliis is, 
rerhaps, uiuiecessary infonnation. Some few 
were written during the disadvantages of ill- 
ness and depression of spirits: under the fonner 
influence, "Childish Recollections," in 
particular, were composed. This considera- 
tion, though it cannot excite the voice of praise, 
may at least an-est the arm of censure. A con- 
siderable portion of these poems has been pri- 
vately printed,at the request and for the perusal 
cf my friends. I am sensible that the partial 
and frequently injudicious admiration of a so- 
cial circle 's not the criterion by which poetical 
genius is a be estimated, yet, " to do gi-eatly," 
we must " dare gi"eat!y; " and I have hazarded 
my reputation and feelings in publishing this 
volume. " I have passed the Rubicon," and 
must stand or fall by the " cast of the die." 
In the latter event, I shall submit without a 
murmur; for though not without solicitude 
for the fate of these effusions, my expectations 
ure by.no means sanguin?. It is probabJe 



that I may have dared much and done little; 
for, in the words of Cowper, " it is one thing 
to write what may please our friend.s, who, 
because they are such, are apt to be a little 
biassed in our favour, and another to write 
what may please every body; because they 
■who have no connection, or even knowledge 
of the author, will be siire to find fault if tliey 
can." To the tmth of this, however, I do not 
wholly subscribe ; on the contrary, I feel con- 
vinced that these trifles will not be treated 
with injustice. Their merit, if they possess 
any, will be liberally allowed: their numerous 
i'auks, on the other hand, cannot expect that 
lavour which has been denied to others of ma- 
turer years, decided character, and far greater 
abilitj\ 

I have not aimed at exclusive originality, 
still less have I studied any particular model 
for imitation : some translations are given, of 
which many are paraphrastic In the original 
pieces there may appear a casual coincidence 
with authors whose works I have been accus- 
tomed to read ; but I have not been guilty of 
intentional plagiarism. To produce any thing 
entirely new, in an age so fertile in rhynie, 
would be a Herculean task, as every subject 
has already been treated to its utmo.st extent. 
PoctiT, however, is not my primary vocation ; 
to divert the dull moments of indisposition, or 
the monotony of a vacant hour, urged me " to 
this sin:" little can be expected from so un 
promising a muse. My wTeath, scanty as it 
must be, is all I shall derive from these pro 
10 



130 



HOURS OF IDLENESS. 



ductions ; and I shall never attempt to replace 
its fading leaves, or pluck a single additional 
sprig f.oiii groves where I am, at best, an in- 
truder. Though accustomed, in my younger 
days, to rove a careless mountaineer on the 
Highlands of Scotland, 1 have not, oflate years, 
ad the benefit of such pure air, or so elevated 
residence, as might enable i»e to enter the 
ists with gentiine bards, who have enjoyed 
oth Ikese advantages. But they derive con- 
siilerablc fame, and a few not less profit, from 
their productions; while I shall expiate my 
rashness as an interloper, certainly without the 
latter, and in all probability with a veiy slight 
share of the former. I leave to others " vinun 
volilare per ora." I look to the few who will 
hear \\ ith patience " dulceest desipere in loco." 
T(> the fonner worthies I resign, without re- 
pining, the hope of immortality, and content 
myself with the not veiy magnificent prospect 
of ranking amongst " the mob of gentlemen 
who wri tc ; " — my readers must determine whe- 
ther I dare say "with ease," or the honour of 
a }K>sthumous page in "The Catalogue of 
lloyal and Noble Authors," — a work to which 
the Peerage is under infinite obligations, in- 
asmuch as many names of considerable length, 
sound, and antiquity, arc thereby rescued from 
the obscuiity which unluckily overshadows 
severed voluminous pro<luctions of their illus 
trious bearers. 

Vrilh slight hopes, and some fears, I publish 
this first and last attempt. To the dictates of 
young ambition may be ascribed many actions 
ffi ore criminal and equally absurd. To a few 
of my own age the contents may aififfd amuse- 
ment: 1 trust they will, at least, be found 
hai-mless. Tt is highly improbable, from my 
situation and pui-suits hereafter, tliat I should 
°ver obtrude myself a second time on the 
oublic ; nor, even, in the very doubtful event 
if present indulgence, shall I be tempted to 
'commit a future trespass of the same nature. 
The opinion of P^. Johnson on the Poems of 
a noble relation of mine', " That when a man 
of rank appeared in the character of an author, 
lie deserved to have his merit handsomely al- 
lowed2," can have little weight with verbal, 
and still less with peiiodical censors; but were 
it otherwise, I should be loth to avail myself 
t/*" the privilege, aiul would rather incur the 
oitterest censure of anonymous ci-iticism, than 
u .umph in honours granted solely to a title. 



l^ours of Bknesg 



ON THE DEATH OF A YOUKG LADIf 

COUSIN TO THB AFTHOB, AND VKHY 
BEAK TO H1M.3 

Husii'd are the winds, and still the evening 
gloom, 

Not e'en a zephyr wanders through the grov e 
Whilst I return, to view my Margaret's tomb 

And scatter flowers on the dust I love. 

Within this narrow cell reclines her clay. 
That clay,where once such animation beam'd: 

The King of Terrors seizf.d her as his prey ; 
Not worlh,norbeauty,have her life redeem'd 

Oh ! could that King of Terrors pity feel. 
Or Heaven reverse the dread decrees of fate J 

Not here the mourner would his grief reveal. 
Not here the muse her virtues would relate. 

But wherefore weep? Her matchless spirit soars 
Beyond where splendid shines the orb of day. 

And weeping angels lead her to those bowers 
Where endless pleasures virtue's deeds repay 

And shall presumptuous mortals Heaven ar- 
raign. 

And, madly, godlike Providence accuse ? 
Ah I no, far fly from me attempts so vain ; — 

1 11 ne'er submission to my God refuse- 
Yet is remembrance of those virtues dear. 

Yet fresh the memory of that beauteous face', 
Sti 1 they call forth my warm affection's tear. 

Still in my heart retain their wonted place 

\803 



TO E .* 

Lkt Folly smile, to view the names 
Of thee and me in friendship twined: 

Yet Virtue will have greater claims 
To love, than rank witJi vice combined 

And though imequal is thy fate, 
Since title deck'd my higher birth' 

Yet envy not this gaudy state ; 

Thine is the pride of modest wartb 



HOlfRS OF IDLENESS. 



131 



Our souls i.t least congeniiil meot, 
Nor can thy lot my rank disgrace ; 

O'U- intercourse is not less sweet, 

Since worlli ol" rank supplies the place. 
November, 1802. 



But, who with me shall hold thy former placr ' 
Thine image, what new I'ricndship can til'ac* ' 
Ah ! none ' — a father's tears will cease to Hov.- 
Time will assuage an infant brother's woe; 
To all, save one, is consolation knov.'u. 
While solitary Iriendship sighs alone. 



TO D .8 

In thee, I fondly hoped to clasp 

A frie ,kI, whom death alone could sever ; 
Till envy, wnth malignant grasp, 

Detach'd thee from my breast for ever. 

Tnie, she has forced thee from my breast, 
Yet, in my heart thou keep'st thy seat ; 

There, there thine image still must rest, 
Until that heart shall cease to beat. 

And, when the gi-ave restores her dead, 
When life again to dust is given. 

On thy dear brtast 1 '11 lay my head — 
Without thee.where would be my heaven ? 
February, 1803. 



EPITAPH ON A FRIEND.« 

Laertius. 

Oh, Friend ! for ever loved, for ever dear! 
What fruitless tears have bathed thy honour d 

bier ! 
What sighs re-echo'd to thy parting breath, 
V^ hilsl thou wast struggling in the pangs of 

death I 
Could tears retard the tyrant in his coiirse ; 
Could sighs avert his dart's relentless force; 
Could youth and virtue claim a short delay, 
Or beauty charm the spectre from his prey ; 
Tliou stifl hadst lived to bless my aching sight, 
Thy comrade's lionour and thy friend's delight. 
If yet thy gentle spirit hover nigh 
The spot where now thy mouldering ashes lie, 
Here wilt thou read, recorded on my heart, 
A gi-ief too deep to trust the sculptors art. 
No marble marks thy couch of lowly sleep, 
Hut living statu.es there are seen to weei^; 
AfHicticm's semblance bends not o'er thy tomb, 
Allliction's self deplores thy youthful doom. 
What though thy sire lament his failing line, 
A father's soitows cannot equal mine ! 
Though none, like thee, his dying hour w^U 

cheer. 
Vel other offspring soothe his anguish here : 



^ A FRAGMENT 

When, to their airy hall, my fathers' n'^n 
Shall call my spirit,' joyful in their cho'cc. 
When, poised upon the gale, my iorm shail 

ride, 
Or, dark in mist, descend tlaemorntain'ssidc; 
Oh ! may my shade behold no sculptured urns 
To mark the spot where earth to eai th retui as I 
No lengthen'd scroll, no praise-encumber'd 

stone ; 
My epitaph shall be my name alone -^ 
If that with honour fail to croAATi my clay, 
Oh ! may no other fame my deeds repay . 
That, only (hat, shall single out the spot; 
By that remember'd, or with that forgot. 



ON LEAVING NEWSTEAD ABBEY.8 

" WTiv dost thou build the hall, son of the 
wi.iged days ? Thou lookest from thy tower to- 
day : yet a few years, and the blast of the desert 
comes", it howls in thy empty court." — Ossian. 

Through thy battlements, Newstead, the 

hollow winds whistle ; 

Thou, the hall of my fathers, art gone to 

decay: [thistle 

In thy once smiling garden, the hemlock and 

Have choked up the rose which late bloom i 

in the way. 

Of the mail-cover d Barons, who proudly to 

battle [plain,* 

Led their vassals from Europe to Palestine's 

The escutcheon and shield, which vvith evcrj 

blast rattle, 

Are the only sad vestiges now ♦hat remain 

No more doth old Robert, with harp-stringing 

numbers, 

Raise a flame in the breast for the vrar- 

laurell'd \\Tcath ; [slumbers : 

Near Askalnn's towers, John of Horistan'f 

Urmcrvcd is the hand of his min«trel \i} 

death. 
K 2 



132 



HOURS OF IDLENESS. 



Paul and Hubeit, too, sleep in the valley of 

Cressy ;» [fell : 

For the saiety of Edward and England ihey 

y fulhcis ! the teiu-s of your country redress 

ye ; [annals can tell. 

How you fought, hew you died, still her 

Mai-ston '2, with Rupert'3, 'gainst trt'itors 

contending [bleak Held ; 

J'our brothers enrich'd with their blood the 

I the rights oi a monarch their coitntry 

defendin ?, 
Till deiith their attachment to royalty seal'd.'-* 

aties of heroes, farewell ! your descendant, 
departing 

From the seat of his ancestors,bidsyou adieu ! 
Abroaa, or at home, your remembrance im- 
parling 

New courage, he "11 think upon glory and yoo. 

Though a tear dim his eye at this sad separation, 
T IS nature, not fear' that excites his regret ; 

"■ar distant he goes, with the same emulation. 
The fame of his fathers he ne'er can foiget. 

that fame, and that memory, still will* he 

cherish; [renown: 

He vows that he ne'er will disgrace your 

Like you will he live, or like you will he 

perish : [your own! 

When decay 'd, may he mingle his dust with 



LINES 

WRITTEN IN *' I.KTTERS TO AN ITALIAN NUN 
AND AN ENGLISH GENTLEMAN: BV J. J. 
KOUSSfAU: FOUNDED ON FACTS." 

" Away, away, your flattering arts 
May now betray some simple hearts ; 
And you will smile at their believing. 
And they shall weep at youi- deceiving." 

ANSWER TO THK FOREGOING, ADDRESSED 
TO MISS : 

Deas, simple girl, those flattering arts, 
From which thou 'dst guard frail female hearts, 
Exist but in imaginuli-un, — 
Mere phantoms of thine own creation; 
For be who views that witching gi-ace. 
That perfect form, that lovely face, 



With eyes admiring, oh ! believe ne 

He never wishes to deceive thee • 

Once in thy jiolish'd mirror glaiice. 

Thou 'It there descry that elegance, 

Which from our sex demands such praise*, 

Brit envy in the other raises: 

Then he who tells thee of thy beauty. 

Believe n)e, only does his duty 

Ah I ily not from the candid youth; 

It is not flattery, — 't is truth. 

July, 1804 

ADRIAN'S ADDRESS TO HIS SOUL 
WHEN DYING.i-5 

[Animula ! va^la, blandula, 
Hospes comesque corporis, 
Qu« nunc abibis in ioca — 
Pallldula, rigida, nudula, 
Nee, ut soles, dabis jocos ?] 

Ah ! gentle, fleeting, wav'ring spiite, 
Friend and associate of this clay ! 

To what lUlkno^^^l region borne, 
Wilt tliou now Vv-ing thy distant flight? 
No more with wonted humour gay, 

But pallid, cheerless, and forlorn 



TRANSLATION FROM CATULLUS 

AD LESBIAM. 

Equal to Jove that youth must be — 
Greater than Jove he seems to me — 
Who, free from Jealousy's alaiTns, 
Securely views thy matchless charais, 
That cheek, which ever dimpling glows. 
That mouth, from whence such music fiosrs 
To him, alike, are always known, 
Reserved for him, and him alone. 
Ah Lesbia ! though 't is death to me, 
I cannot choose but look on thee ; 
But, at the sight, my senses fly; 
I needs must gaze, but, ga/.ing, die ; 
Whilst trembling with a thousand fears, 
Parch'd to the throat my tongue adheres, 
My pulse beat quick, my breath heaven sbon 
My limbs deny Uieir slight support. 
Cold dews my pallid face o'eispread, 
With deadly languor droops my head, 
My ears with tingling echoes ling 
Aufl life itself is on the wing; 
My eyes refuse the cheering light, 
Their orbs are vcil'd in slarbss night; 
Such pangs my nature sinks beneath 
And feels a temporary death. 



HOURS OF IDLENESS. 



133 



TRANSLATION OF THE EPITAPH ON 
VIRGIL AND TIBULLUy. 

BY DOMITIUS MARSUS. 

Hk who sublime in epic numbers roll'd, 
An.l he 'vvho struck the softer lyre of love, 

By Death's'*' unequal hand alike controU'd, 
F;t comrades in Elysian regions move ! 



IMITATION OF TIBULLUS. 

" Sulpicia ad Cerintlium." — Lib. 4. 

Ckuel Cerinthus ! does the fell disease 
WhieJi racks my breast your fickle bosom 

please ? 
Alas I I wish'd but to o'ercome the pain, 
That I might live for love and you again • 
But now I scarcely shall bewail my fate ; 
B^ death alone I can avoid youi- hate. 



TRANSLATION FROM CATULLUS. 

[Lugete, Veneres, Cupidinesque, &c.] 

Ye Cupids, droop each little nead. 
Nor let your wings with joy be spread, 
My Lesbia's favourite bird is dead, 

A^Tioni dearer than her eyes she loved 
For he was gentle, and so U'ue, 
Obedient to her call he flew, 
No fear, no \\-ild alann he knew, 

But lightly o'er her bosom moveflf : 

Au'l softly fluttering here and there, 
He never sought to cleave the air. 
But chiru])p'(l oi't, and, free from care. 

Tuned to her ear his grateful strain. 
Now having pass'd the gloomy bourne 
Fi'om whence he never can return, 
His death and Lesbia's grief I mourn, 

Who sighs, alas ! but sighs in vaiu. 

Oh ! curst be thou, devouring grave I 
Whose jaws eternal victims crave. 
From whom no earthly power can save. 

For thoii hast ta'en the biul away 
From thee, my Lesbia's eyes o'ertlow, 
Her swollen cheeks with weeping glow ; 
Thnu an the cause of all her woe, 

Keccptacle of life's decay. 



IMITATED FROM CATULLUS. 

TO ELLEX. 

Oh '. might I kiss those eyes of fire, 
A million scarce would quench d'-sire . 
Still would I steep my lips in bliss, 
And dwell an age on every kiss : 
Nor then my soul should sated be ; 
Still would 1 kiss and cling to thee 
Nought should my kiss from thine dissevof; 
Still would we kiss, and kiss for ever; 
E'en though the numbers did exceed 
The yellow harvest's countless seed. 
To part would be a vain endeavour: 
Could I desist ? — ah ! never — never ! 



TRANSLATION FROM HORACE. 

[Justum et tenacem propositi virum, Src] 

The man of firni and noble soul 
No factious clamours can control ; 
No threat' ning tyi-ant's darkling bro-,v 

Can swerve him from his just intent: 
Gales the warring waves which plough. 

By Auster on the billows spent, 
To curb the Adiiatic main, 
Woidd awe his fix'd detennined mind in v«un 

Ay, and the red right arm of Jove, 
Hurtling his lightnings from above, 
With all his terrors there unfurl'd. 

He would, unmoved, unawed behold. 
The flames of an expiring world. 

Again in crashing chaos roll'd, 
In vast promiscuous ruin hurl'd. 
Might light his glorious funeral pile . [smile 
Still daimtless 'midst the wreck of earth he'« 



FROM ANACREON. 

[ifikw kfyiTv Ar^sl^as, «. t. X."] 

1 WISH to fune my quivering lyre 
To deeds of fame and notes of fire ; 
To echo, from its rising swell. 
How heroes fought and naticms fell 
When Atreus' sons advanced to war, 
Or Tynan Cadmus roved afar; 
But still , to mai-tial strains unknown, 
My lyre recui's to love alone : 



134 



HOURS OF IDLENESS. 



Fired wath the hope of future fame, 
I seek some nobler hero's name ; 
The dying chords are strung anew, 
I'o war, to war, ray h;u-p is due 
With glowing strings, the epic strain 
To Jove's great son I raise again ; 
Alcides and his glorious deeds, 
Beneath whose ann the Hydra bleeds. 
All. all in vain ; my way%vard lyre 
vVakes silver notes of soft desire. 
Adieu, ye cHefs renown'd in aims ! 
Adieu the clang of war's alarms ! 
To other deeds my soul is strung, 
And sweeter notes shall now be sung; 
My hai-p shall all its powers reveal, 
To tell the tale my heart must feel : 
Love, Love alone, my l.\Te shall claim, 
Id songs of bhss and sighs of flame. 



With care I tend my wt^ary guest, 

His little fingers chill my breast : 

His glossy curls, his a/.ure wing, 

Which droop with nightly showers, I wring ■ 

His shivering limbs the embers waitn ; 

And now reviving from the storm. 

Scarce had he felt his wonted glow, 

Than swit'i he sei/.ed his slender bow — 

" I fain would know, my gentle host," 

He ciied, " if this its strength has lost; 

I fear, relax'd with midnight dews, 

The stiings their former aid refuse." 

With poison tipt, his arrow iiies, 

Deep in my tortured heart it lies , 

Then loud the joyous urchin laugh'd :— 

" My bow can still impel the shaft : 

"T is firnily fix'd, thy sighs reveal it ; 

Say, couiteous ho.st, canst thou not feel it?" 



FROM ANACREOX. 

T WAS now the hour when Night had driven 

Her car half round yon sable lieaven ; 

Boiitcs, on'y, seem'd to roll 

His arctic charge around the pole ; 

While mortals, lost in gentle sleep, 

Forgot to smile, or ceased to weep : 

kt this lone hour, the Paphian boy, 

Descending from the realms of joy, 

3uick to my gate directs his coirrse. 

And knocks with all his little force. 

My visions fled, alarm'd I rose, — 

■' What stranger breaks my blest repose ?" 

'* Alas I' replies the wily child. 

In faltering accents sweetly mild, 

" A hapless infant here I roam, 

Far from my dear maternal home. 

Oh ! shield me from the wintry blast ! 

The nightly stoiTn is pouring fast. 

No prowling robber lingers here. 

A wandiring baby who can fear?" 

I heard his seeming artless tale 

[ heard his sighs upon the gale : 

My breast was never pity's foe, 

But felt for all the baby's woe. 

I di-ew the bar, and by the light, 

Young Love, the infant, met my sight; 

His bow across his shoulders flung, 

And thence his fatal quiver hung 

(Ah ! little did I think the dart 

'A-'ould rankle soon within my heart). 



FROM THE PROMETHEUS VINCTUS 
OF ^SCHYLUS. 

Great ,lo\e, to whose almighty throne 
Both gods and mortals homage pay, 

Ne'er may my soul thy power disown, 
Thy dread behests ne'er disobey. 

Oft shall the sacred victim fdl 

In sea-girt Ocean's mossy h:ill ; 

My voice shall raise no impious strain 

Gainst him who rules the sky and a/.ure riiaia. 
How different now thy joyless fate. 

Since first Hesione thy bride. 
When placed aloft in godlike state. 
The blushing beauty by thy side. 
Thou sat' St, while reverend Ocean smile-l, 
And mirthful strains the hours beguiled, 
The Nymphs and Tritons danced around, 
Nor yet thy doom was fix'd, nor Jove relent 
less frown'd.l7 

Harrow, Dec. !, 1804 



TO EMMA 

Since now the hour is come at last, 
When you must quit your anxious lover 

Since now our dream of bliss is past, 
One pang, my girl, and all is over. 

Alas ! that pang will be severe. 

Which bids us part to meet no more,* 

Which tears me far from one sc dear, 
Departing for a distant shov? 



HOURS OF IDLENESS. 



13j 



Well ! we hiive pass'd some happy hours, 
And joy will iniug-e with our tears ; 

When ihi liking on these ancient towers, 
The shelter of oui- mfaut yeai's ; 

Wliere from this Gothic casement's height, 
We view'd the lake, the park, the dell ; 

Aiv.l itiil, though tears ob^jtruct our sight, 
We lingering look a last f:u-ewell, 

O ur fifflds through which we used to run, 
A:id spend the hours in childish play ; 

O'er shades where, when oui- race was done, 
Repoiing on my breast you lay ; 

Whilst I, admiring, too remiss, 
Forgot to scare the hovering flies, 

Yet envied every tly the kiss 

It d;u'ed to give your slumbering eyes : 

See still the little painted bark, 

In which [ row'd you o'er the lake ; 

See there, 1 tgh waving o'er tlie parli. 
The elm I clamber'd for your sake. 

These times are past — om joys are gone, 
You leave me, leave this happy vale ; 

These scenes I must retrace alone: 
Without thee what will they avail ? 

Who can conceive, who has not proved, 
The anguish of a last embrace i* 

Wh-n, torn from all you fondly loved, 
You bid a long adieu to peace. 

This is the deepest of our woes, 

For this these tears our checks bedew 

This is of love the lin<d close, 

Oh, God ! the fondest, last ailieu ! 



A glance from thy soul-searching 3ye 
Can raise with hope, depress with fear; 

Yet I conceal my love, — and why ? 
I would not force a painful tear. 

I ne'er have told my love, yet thou 
Hast seen my ardent flame too well , 

And shall I plead my passion now, 
To make thy bosom's heaven a hell? 

No ! for thou never canst be mine, 
United by the priest's decree: 

By any ties but those divine, 

Mine, my beloved, thou ne'er shall be 

Then let tlie secret fire consume, 

Let it consume, thou shalt not know 

With joy I court a certain doom, 
Rather than spread its guilty glow. 

I will not ease my tortured heart, 

By driving dove-eyed peace from thine; 

Rather than such a sting impart, 

Each thought presumptuous I resign. 

Yes ! yield those lips, for which I'd brava 
More than 1 here shall dare to tell; 

Thy innocence and mine to save, — 
i bid thoe now a last farewell. 

Yes I yield that breast, to seek despair, 
And hope no more thy soft embrace ; 

Which to obtain my soul would dare, 
All, all reproach — but thy disgi-ace. 

At least from guilt shalt thou be free. 
No matron shall thy shame reprove ; 

Though cureless pangs may prey on me, 
No martyr shalt thou be to love. 



TO M.S.G. 

Whene er I view those lips of thine, 
Th^ir hue invites my fervent kiss; 

Yet I forego that bliss divine, 
Alas ! it were unhallow'd bliss. 



TO CAROLINE 

Think'st thou I saw thy beauteous eye.% 
Sufl'used in tears, implore to stay ; 

And heaiu 'anmoved thy plenteous sighs, 
Which said far more than words can say 



V^'^ene'er 1 dream of that pure breast, 
How could I dwell upon its snows ! 

Yet. i"? the daring wish represt; 

For tn:u. — would banish its repose 



Though keen the grief thy tcai-s expresi, 
When love and hope lay both o'ertbro\VTj , 

Yet still, my girl, this bleeding breast 
Tbrobb'd with deep son jw as thine own 



136 



HOURS OF IDLENESS. 



Bnt -when our cheeks with angiiish gkmd 
When thy sweetlips were join'd to mine, 

The taai-s that from my eyelids flow'd 
W(3re lost in those which fell Irom thine 

Thou could'st not feel my burning cheek, 
Thy gushing tears had quench'd its flame; 

A.nd as thy tongue essay'd to speak, 
In sighs alone it breathed my name. 

And yet, my girl, we weep in vain, 
In vain our fate in sighs deplore; 

Remembrani-e only can remain, — 
But that \^'ill make us w^eep the more. 

Again, thou best beloved, adieu! 

Ah! if thou canst, o'crcome regret; 
Nor let thy mind past joys review, — 

Our only hope is to forget ! 



TO CAROLINE. 

WhenI hearyouexpressanafFectior s)warm, 
Ne'er think, my beloved, that I do not be- 
lieve ; [ai-m, 
For your lip would the soul of suspicion dis- 
Andyour eyebeams a ray which can never 
deceive. 

Yet, still, this fondbosomregi-ets, while adoring, 
That love.like the leaf,must fall into ths sear: 

That age will come on, when remembrance, 

deploring, [a tear; 

Contemplates the scenes of her youth with 

That the time must arrive, when, no longer re- 
taining [the breeze, 
Their auburn, those locks must wave thin to 
When a few silver hairs of those tresses re- 
maining. 
Prove nature a prey to decay and disease. . 

Tis this, my beloved, which spreads gloom 

o'er my features, [decree. 

Though I ne'er shall presume to arraign the 

Which God has proclaim'd as the fate of his 

creatures, [of me 

In the death which one day will deprive you 

Mi.-takenot,sweet sceptic, the cause of emoLion, 
No doubt can the mind of your lover invade ; 

He worships each look with such faithful devo- 
tion, 
A smile can enchant, or a tear can dissuade. 



But as death, my beioved, soon or late shaU 

o'ertuke us, [pathy g'ow, 

And our breasts, which alive with such sym- 

Wiil sleep in the gi-ave till the blast shall 

awake us, [low — 

When calling the dead, in earth's bosom laid 

Oh ! then let us drain, while we may, draught* 
of pleasure, [ceasingly flew 

Which from passion like ours may un- 
Let us pass round the cup of love's bliss iu 

full measure. 
And quaii' the contents as our nectar below. 

180& 



TO CAROLINE. 

Oh ! when shall the grave hide for ever my 

soiTows? [from this clay? 

Oh ! when shall my soul wing her flight 

The present is hell, and the coming to-morrow 

But brings, with new tortm-e, the curse of 

to-day 

From my eye flows no tear, from my lips flow 
no curses, [from bHss ; 

I blast not the fiends who have hurl'd me 
For poor is the soul which bewailing rehearses 

Its queridousgi-ief, when in anguish like this. 

Was my eye, 'stead of teai's, with red fury 
flalies bright'ning. 
Would my lips breathe a flame which no 
stream could assuage. 
On our foes should my glance launch in ven- 
geance its lightning, [its rage. 
With ti-ansport my tongue give a loose to 

But now tears and curses, alike unavailing. 
Would add to the souls of om- tjTants delight ; 

Coidd they view us our sad separation be- 
wailing, [sight. 
Their merciless hearts would rejoice at the 

Yet still, though we bend with a feign'd resig- 
nation, [can chee/ ; 
Life beams not for us with one ray that 
Love and hope upon earth bring n 3 more con- 
solation ; [fear. 
In the grave is our hope, for in life is om 

Oh ! when, my adored, in the tomb will thej 
place me, [are fled ? 

Since, in life, love and friendship for evei 
If again in the mansion of deatli I embrace thee 

Perhaps they will leave unmolested the dead. 



HOURS OF IDLENESS. 



137 



STANZAS TO A LADY. 

WITH THE POUMS OF CAM0SN3.'* 

This votive pledge of fond esteem, 

Perhaps, dear girl ! for nie thou 'It pfize. 

It sings of Love's enchanting dreaaa, „ 
A theme we never can despise. 

WTio blames it but the envious fool, 
Ihe old and disappointed maid ; 

Or pupil of the prudish school, 
In single sorrow donm'd to fade ? 

Then read, dear girl ! with feeling read, 
For thou wilt ne'er be one of those ; 

To thee in vain I shall not plead 
Tn pity for the poet's woes. 

He was m sooth a genuine bard ; 

His was no faint, fictitious flame: 
Like his, may love be thy reward, 

But not thy hapless fate the same.l^ 



Your shepherds, your flocks, those lantasticA 
themes. 
Perhaps may amuse, yet theynever can move 
Arcadia displays but a region of dreams : 
What are visions like these to the first kiss 
of love ? 

Oh! cease to affinn that m-in, since his birtl\ 
From Adam till now, has -vith wretchedne « 
strove ; 

Some portion of paradise still is on earth. 
Aiid Eden revives in the th'st kiss of lo'e 

Wlien age chills the blood, whtu our pleasures 
are past — [dove— 

For years fleet away with the wings of the 
The dearest remembrance will still be the last. 

Our sweetest memorial the fir?* kiss of love 



ON A CHANGE OF MASTERS AT A 
GREAT PUBLIC SCHOOL.'-^o 



THE FIRST KISS OF LOVE. 

'A Bx^SiTOi 5s ^^oe^aTs 

'E^uiToc, ftavvov i)x,u. Anacreon. 

AWA\ \vith your fictions of flimsy romance ; 

Those tissues of falsehood which folly has 

wove! [glance. 

Give me the mild beam of the soul-breathing 

Or the rapture which dwells on tlie first 

kiss of love. 

'\*e rhymers, whose bosoms with phantasy glow, 

Whose pastoral passions are made for the 

gi'ove ; [would flow, 

From what blest inspiration your sonnets 

Could you ever have tasted the first kiss oi 

love! 



Where are those honours, Ida ! once your own. 
WhenProbus2i filled your magisterial throne? 
As ancient Rome, fast falling to disgi-ace, 
Hail'd a barbarian in her Caesar's place. 
So you, degenerate, share as hard a fate, 
And seat Pomposu's where your Probus sate. 
Of naiTow brain, yet of a narrower soul, 
Pomposus-'"'^ holds you in his harsh control ; 
Pomposus, by no social virtue sway"d. 
With florid jargon, tuid witli vain parade; 
With noisy nonsense, and iiew-f-iHgled rule' 
Such as were ne'er before enforced in school.^ 
Mistaking pedantry for learning's laws. 
He governs, sanction'd but by self-applau>.e, 
With him the same dire fate attending Roin'^, 
Ill-fated Ida! soon must stamp your doom: 
Like her o'erthrown, for ever lost tn lani'?. 
No trace of science left you, but the name. 

July, 1805. 



Apollo should e'er his assistance refuse, 
Or the Nine be disposed from your service 
to rove, 
Invoke them no more, bid adieu to the muse, 
And try the eflJect of the first kiss of love ! 

I hate you, ye cold compositions of art! 
1 hough prudes may condemn me, and 
bigots reprove, 
I court the efliisions that spring from the he» -t, 
VThich throbs with delight to the first kis« 
of love 



TO THE DUKE OF DORSET. 

Dorset23! whose early steps with mine liave 

stray'd. 
Exploring eveiy path of Ida's glade ; 
T^Hiom still affection taught me to defend, 
And made me less a tyrant than a friend. 
Though the harsh custom of our youthful bar 
Bade Ihee obey, and gave me to command ;"< 
Thee ,on whose head a few short yearswi 11 showel 
The gift of riches, and the pride of powei 



138 



HOUKS OF IDLENESS. 



E'en now a name illustrious is thine own, 
Renown'd in rank, not farbeneatli the throne 
Fet, Dorset, let not this seduce thy soul 
To shun fair science, or evade control. 
Though passive tutors^j, fearful to dispraise, 
The titled child, whose future breath may raise; 
View ducal errors with indulgent eyes, 
And wink at faults they tremble to chastise. 

Wien youthful parasites, who bend the knee 
To wealth, their golden idol, not to thee, — • 
And even in simple boyhood's opening dawn 
Some slaves are found to Hatter and lo fawn , — 
When these declai'e, "that pomp alone should 

wait 
On one by birth predestined to be gi-eat ; 
That books were only meant for drudging fools 
That gidlaiit spirits scorn the common rules;" 
Believe them not; — they point the path to 

shame. 
And seek to blast the honours of thy name. 
Turn to the few in Ida's early throng, 
Wliose souls disdain not to condemn the wrong ; 
Or if, amidst the comrades of thy youth. 
None dare to raise the sterner voice of truth. 
Ask thine own heart ; 'twill bid thee, boy 

forbear ; 
For well I know that virtue lingers there.[day, 
Yes ! I have mark'd thee many a passing 
But nov/ new scenes invite me far away ; 
Tes! I have mark'd wthin that generous mind 
A soul, if well matured, to bless mankind. 
Ah! though m.yself, by nature haughty, wild, 
Whom Indiscretion hail'd her favourite child; 
Though every error stamps me for her own, 
And dooms my fall, I fain would fall alone ; 
Though my proud heart no precept now can 

tame, 
I love the virtues whicii I cannot claim. 

'Tis not enough, with other sons of power, 
To gleam the lambent meteor of an hour ; 
To 6;well some peerage page in feeble pride, 
With long-drawn names that gi-ace no page 

beside ; 
Then share with titled crowds the common lot — 
In life just gazed at, in the grave forgot ; 
While nought divides thee from the vulgar 

dead. 
Except the dull cold stone that hides thy head 
The mouldering'scutcheon,or the herald's roll, 
That well-emblazon'd.but neglected scroll, 
Where lords, unhonoi4?'d in the tomb may find 
One spot, to leave a worthless name behind. 
There sleep, unnoticed as the gloomy vaults 
Til at veil their dust, their follies, and their faults, 
A race^ with 0U4 tumorial lists o'crsfresKl, 
In records destined never to be reao. 



Fain would I view thee, with prophetic 6ym 
Exalted more among the good and wise, 
A glorious and a long career pursue, 
As first in rank, the first in tcJoit too : 
Spura every vice, each little meanness shiui' 
Not Fortune's minion, but her noblest son. 

Turn to the annals of a former day; 
Bright are the deeds thine earlier sires display. 
One, though a courtier, lived a man of worth, 
And call'd, proud boast! the British drama 

forth.-2« 
Another view, not less renown'd for wit ; 
Alike for courts, and camps, or senates fit; 
Bold in the field, and favonr'd by the Nine ; 
In every splendid part ordain'd to shine; 
Far, far (listinguish'd from the glitteiing throng, 
The pride (jf princes, and the boast of song.27 
Such were thy fathers ; thus preserve their 

name ; 
Not heir to titles only, but to fame. 
The hour draws nigh, a few brief days -will 

close 
To ms, this little scene of joys and woes ; 
E i"h knell of Time now warns me to resign 
Shades where Hope, Peacu, and Friendship 

all were mine 
Hope, that could vary like the rainbow's hue; 
And gild their pinions as the moments flew ; 
Peace, that reflection never frown'd away. 
By dreams of ill to cloud some future day ; 
Friendship, whose truth let childhood onlj 

tell; 
Alas ! they love not long, who love so welL 
To these adieu! nor let me linger o'er 
Scenes hail'd, as exiles hail their native shore, 
Ileccding slowly through the dark-blue deep, 
Beheld by eyes that mom-n, yet cannot weep. 

Dorset, farewell ! I will not ask one part 
Of sad remembrance in so young a heart ; 
The coming moiTOW from thy youthful mi;id 
Will sweep my name, nor leave a trace behind. 
And yet, perhaps, in some maturer year. 
Since chance has thrown us in the self sam 

sphere. 
Since the same senate, nay, the same debate. 
May one day claim our suffrage for the state, 
We hence may meet, and pass each other b/, 
With faint regard, or cold and distant eye. 
For me, in future, neither friend nor foe, 
A stranger to thyself, thy weal or woe, 
With thee no more again I hope to ti'ace 
The recollection of our early i-ace ; 
No more, as once, in soitial hours rejoice, 
Or hear, unless in crowds, thy wellkno\ra voice 
Still, if tlie wishes of a heart untaught 
To veil those feelings v.'-hich perchance it onghv 



HOURS OF IDLENESS. 



139 



U tlieee, — but let me cease ihc lengtheii'd 

stiaiii, — 
Oh! if these wishes are not breathed in vain, 
The guardian ierajih who directs thy fate 
Will leave thee glorious,as he found thee gi'eat.'-^ 

1805. 



FRAGMENT. 

•BITTEN SHOUTLY AFTEK THE MARRIAGE 
or MISS CHAWORTH. 

IIiLLS of Annesley ! bleak and bairen, 
\Miere my thoughtless childhood stray'd, 

How the northern tempests, warring. 
Howl above thy tullcd shade! 

Now no more, the hoiu's beguiling, 
Fonner favomite haimts I see ; 

Now no more my ]Mary smiling 
Makes ye seem a h(;aven to me.29 

1805. 



They know the Chancellor has gcit 
Some pretty livings in disposal: 

Each hopes that one may be his lot, 
And therefore smiles on his proposa^ 

Now from the soporific scene 

I'll turn mine eye, as night grows laiei 
To view, unheeded and unseen, 

The studious sons of Alma Mater. 

There, in apartments small and damp, 
The candidate for college prizes 

Sits poring by the midnight lamp: 
Goes late to bed, yet eaiiy rises 

He surely well deserves to gain them, 
With all the honours of his college, 

Who, striving hardly to obtain them, 
Thus seeks unprofitable knowledge: 

Who sacrifices hours of rest 
To scan precisely metres Attic; 

Or agitates his anxious breast 
In solving problems matliematic: 



GRANTA. A Medley. 

KoocTViirais. 

Oh I could Le Sage's^o demon's gift 

Be realised at my desire, 
This night my trembling fonn he'd lift 

To place it on St. Mary's spire. 

Then would, unroofd, old Granta's halls 
Pedantic inmates full display; 

Fellows \x\\o dream on lawn or stalls, 
The price of venal votes to pay 

Then would I view each rival wight, 
Petty and Palmerston survey; 

Who canvass there with all their might, 
Against the next elective day.3l " 

Lo! candidates and voters lie 

All lull'd in sleep, a goodly number: 

A race renosvn'd lor piety, [slumber 

Whose conscience won't disturb theii 



Who reads false quantities in Sealc,33 
Or puzzles o'er the deep triangle; 

Deprived of many a wholesome meal ; 
In barbarous Latin^^ doom'd to wraaigle 

Renouncing eveiy pleasing page 
From authors of historic use; 

Prel'erring to the letr.er'd sage, 
The square of the hypotlienuse.*'* 

Still, harmless are these occupations, 
That hurt none but the hapless stud<3it, 

Compared with other recreations, 

Which bring together the imprudent, 

Whose daring revels shock the sight. 
When vice and inlamy combine, 

When drunkenness and dice invite, 
As every sense is steep'd in wine. 

Not so the methodistic crew. 
Who plans of refonnation lay 

In humble attitude they stie. 
And for tlie sins of others pray 



Lord H 32^ indeed, may not demur; 

Fellows are sage reflecting men: 
They know preferment can occiu- 

But very seldom. — no^v and then. 



.'.'orgetting that their pride o^ spirit, 
Their exaltation in their trial. 

Detracts most largely from the merh 
Of all their boasted self-<leniaL 



uo 



HOURS OF IDLENESS. 



"Tis mora: — from these I turn my sight. 

What scene is this which meets the eye? 
A numerous crowd, array'd in white,36 

Across the green in numbers tiy, 

Loud rings in air the chapel bell; [hear? 
Tis hush'd: — what sounds are these I 
^ The oigan's soft celestial swell 
f Rolls deeply on the lisi'ning ear. 

To this is join'd the sacred song, 

The royal minstrel's hailow'd strain ; 

Though he who hears the music long 
Will never wish to hear again. 

Our choir would scarcely be excused, 
• Even as a band of raw beginners; 
A.11 mercy now musl be refused 
To such a set of croaking sinners. 

If Darid, when his toils were ended, [him, 
Had heard these blockheads sin.g before 

To us his psalms '"-ad ne'er descentled, — 
In furious mood he would have tore 'era. 

The luckless Israelites, when taken 
Bj- some inhuman tyrant's order, 

Were asked to sing, by joy forsaken, 
On Babylonian river's border. 

Oh ! had they sung in notes like these, 
Inspired by stratagem or fear, 

They might have set their hearts at ease, 
The devil a soul had stay'd to hear. 

But if I scribble longer now, 

The deuce a soul will stay to read: 

My pen is blunt, my ink is low; 
'Tis almost time to stop, indeed, 

Therefore, farewell, old Granta's spiix.*. 

No more, like Cleofas, I fly ; 
No more thy theme my muse inspires: 

The reader 's tired, and so am I. 

180S. 



ON A DISTANT-VIEW OF THE VIL- 
LAGE AND SCHOOL OF HARROW 
ON THE HILL. 

Oh ! mihi praeteri tos referat si Jupiter annos. — 

ViBGIL. 

V'e scenes of my childhood, whose loved re- 
collection [past; 
Embitters the present, compared with the 



Where science first dawn'd on the powers (% 

retlection, [last i^^ 

And friendships vrere fonn'd too romantic to 

Where fancy yet joys to trace the resemblance 

Of comrades, in friendship and mischiel 

allied ; [brance^ 

How welcome to me your ne'er fading remem- 

Which rests 'n the bosom, though hope ia 

denied I 

Again I revisit the hills where we sported, 

Tne streams where we swam, and the fields 

where we fought ;38 [resorted. 

The school where, loud warn'd by the bell, we 

To pore o'er the precepts by pedagogues 

taught. 

[der'd, 

Again I behold where for h''ttrs I have pon- 

As reclining, at eve,on yon tombstone^^ I lay ; 

Or round the steep brow of the churchyard I 

wander'd, [ray. 

To catch the last gleam of the siui's setting 

I once more view the room, with spectators 

surrounded, [thi'o^^'n ; 

Where, as Zanga-^o, I trod on Alonzo o'er- 

While, to swell my youngpride, such applai.ses 

resounded, [shone* 

I fancied that Mossop^' himself was out- 

Or, as Lear, I poiu"'d forth the deep impreca. 
tion, [deprived; 

By my daughters, of kingdom and reason 
Till, fired by loud plaudits and self adulation, 

I regarded myself as a Gan-ick revived. 42 

Ye dreams of my boyhood, how much I regret 
you ! 

Unfailed your memory dwells in my breast; 
Though sad and deserted,! ne'er can fongetyou-. 

Your pleasm-es may still be in fancy possest 

To Ida full oft may remembrance restore me, 

While fate shall the shades of the futurs 

imroll ! [me. 

Since darkness o'ershadows the prospec before 
More dear is the beam of the past to my 60i\l, 

But if, through the course of the years which 

await me, [view, 

Some new scene of pleasure should open ic 

I will say, while with raptui-ethe thought shal- 

elate me, [knew!* 

" Ob ' such wei-e the days which my infancj 



HOURS OF IDLENESS. 



Ul 



-O M . 

9u ; A\d those eyes, >istead of fire, 
With bright but mild alfection shine, 

rhougli they might kindle Ie<s desire. 
Love, more than mortal, would be thine. 

For thou art fomi'd so heavenly fair, 
ilowe er those orbs may wildly boam, 

We must admire, but still despair ; 
That fatal glance forbids esteem. 

When Nature stamp'd thy beauteous birth. 
So much perfection in thee shone. 

She fear'd that, too divine for earth. 

The skies might claim thee for their own : 

Therefore, to guard her dearest work. 
Lest angels might dispute the prize, 

She bade a secret lightning lurk 
Within those once celestial eyes. 

These might the boldest sylph appal. 
When gleaming with meridian blaze; 

Thy beauty must enrapture all ; 
l?ut who can dare thine aident gaze? 

Tis said that Berenice's hair 
In stars adorns the vault of heaven ; 

'^ut they would ne'er permit thee there. 
Thou wouldst so fai outshine the seven. 

For did those eyes as planets roll, 

Thy sister-lights woidd scarce appear : 

E'en suns, which systems now control, 
Would twinkle dimly thi-ough theii- sphere 
1806. 



TO WOMAN. 



Or sparkles black, or mildly throws 

A beam from imder hazel brows 1 

How quick we credit every oath, 

And hear her plight the willing troth ! 

Fondly we hope 't will last for aye, 

^^^len lo ! she changes in a day. 

This record will for ever stand, 

" Woman, thy vows are traced in sand, "*^ 



TO M. S. G. 

When I dream that you lOve me, you 11 surelj 
forgi ve ; 

Extend not your anger to sleep ; 
For in visions alone your affection can live, — 

I rise, and it leaves me to weep. 

Then, Morpheus ! envelope my faculties fast, 
Shed o'er me yom- languor benign ; [last, 

Should the dream of to-night but resemble tie 
What raptui-e celestial is mine ' 

They tell us that slumber, the sister of death 

Mortality's emblem is given ; 
To fate how I long to resign my frail breath. 

If this be a foretaste of heaven ' 

Ah! frown not, sweet lady, unbend your soft 
brow, 

Nor deem me too happy in this ; 
If I sin in my dream, I atone for it now, 

Thus doom'd but to gaze upon bliss. 

Though in visions, sweet lady, perhaps yo«i 
may smile. 
Oh! think not mj penance deficient! 
When dreams of your presence my slumbers 
beguile, 
To awake wnll be tortm-e sufficient. 



Woman! experience might have told me, 

That ail must love thee who behold thee • 

Surely experience might have taught 

Thy lirmest promises are nought 

B It, placed in all thy charms before me, 

All I forget, but to adore thee. 

Oh memory! thou choicest blessing 

When join'd with hope, when still possessing ; 

But how much cursed by every lover 

fVTien hope is fled and passion 's over. 

fVoman, that fair and fond deceiver. 

How jjrompt are striplings to believe her ! 

How ttu'obs the pulse when first we view 

The eye that rolls in glossy blue, 



TO MARY. 

ON RECEIVING HER PICTURE.^ 

This faint resemblance of thy charms. 
Though strong as mortal art could give. 

My constant heart of fear disarms, 
Revives my hopes, and bids me live. 

Here I can trace the locks of gold 

Which round thy snowy forehead wave. 

The cheeks which sprung from beauty's mow '4, 
The lips which made me beauty's slave 



142 



HOURS OF IDLENESS. 



Here I can trace — ah, no! that eye, 
Whose azure floats ia liquid fii'e, 

Must all the painter's art defy, 
And bid him from the task retire. 

Here I behold its beauteous hue ; 

But where 's the beam so sweetly straying, 
Which gave a lustre to its blue, 

Like Luna o'er the ocean playing? 

Sweet copy ! far more dear to me, 

Lifeless, unfeeling as thou art, 
Than all the living forms could be, 

Save hor who placed thee next my heaat. 

She placed it, sad, with needless fear, 

Lest time might shake my wavering soul, 

Unconscious that her image there 
Held every sense in fast control. 

Through hom-s, through years, through time, 
'twill cheer; 

My hope, in gloomy moments, raise; 
{n life's last conllict 'twill appear, 

And meet my fond expiring gaze. 



No, no, my flame- -was not pretended; 

For, oh ! I lovt J you most sincerely ; 
And — though our dream at last is ended— 

;My bosom still esteems you deaiiy. 

No more we meet in yonder bowers ; 

Absence has made mt prone to roving ; 
But older, firmer hearts than ours 

Have found monotony in loving, 

Your cheek's soft bloom is unimpair'd. 
New beauties still are daily bright'ning, 

Your eye for conquest beams rrepared, 
The forge of love's resistless lightning, 

Arm'd thus, to make their bosoms bleed. 
Many will throng to sigh like me, love ! 

More constant they may prove, indeed ; 
Fonder, alas ! they ne'er can be, love ! 



LINES ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG 
LADY. 



TO LESBIA. 



[As the author was discharging his pistols ir 
a garden, two ladies passing near the spot wctt 
alarmed by the sound of a bullet hissing ne'f 
them ; to one of whom the following stauax 
were addressed the next morning.] 45 



Lbsbia ! since far from you I 've ranged, 
Oiu- souls with fond affection glow not ; 

Von say 'tis I, not you, have changed, 
I'd tell you why, — but yet I know not. 

Your polish'd brow no cares have crost; 

And Lesbia! we are not much older 
Since, trembling, first my heart I lost. 

Or told my love, with hope gro^vn bolder. 

Sixteen was then our utmost age, 

Two j'<'=a"s have lingering past away, love! 
(Lnd now new thoughts our minds engage, 

At least I feel disposed to stray, love ! 

T is I that am alone to blame, 

I, that am guilty of love's treason ; 

i»ince yom- sweet breast is still the same. 
Caprice must be my only reason. 

I do not, love ! suspect your tnith. 
With jealous doubt my bosom heaves not; 

Wai-m was the passion of my y^uth, 
One trace of dark deceit it leaves not 



Doubtless, sweet girl! the hissing lead. 
Wafting destruction o'er thy charms, 

And hurtling-^o o'er thy lovely head, 
Has fill'd that breast with fond alaitna. 

Surely some envious demon's force, 
Vex'd to behold such beauty here, 

Impell'd the bullet's viewless com-se, 
Diverted from its first career. 

Yes ! in that nearly fatal hour 
The ball obey'd some hell-bom giiid* ; 

But Heaven, with interposing power, 
In pity turn'd the death aside. 

Yet, as perchance one trembling tear 
Upon th:it thrilling bosom fell r 

Which I. th' unconscious cause of fear. 
Extracted from its glistening cell: 

Sav, what dire penance can atone 
For such an outrage done to thee? 

Arraign'd before thy beauty's thi-one, 
"\;V'hat punishment wilt thou decree? 



HOURS OF IDLENESS. 



143 



Might I perform the judge s part. 

The scnlnncc I should scarce deplore ; 

Hi only would restore a heart 

Which but beloiig'd to thee before. 

The least atonement I can make 

Is to become no longer free : 
Henceforth I breatlie but for thy sake, 

Thou shall be all in al' to me. 

But thou, perhaps, may st now reject 

Such expiation of my guilt : 
Come then, some other mode elect ; 

Let it be death, or what thou wilt 

Choose then, relentless ! and I swear 
Nought shall thy dread decree prevent; 

Yet hold — one little word forbear! 
Let it be aught but biuii;>liment. 



LOVE'S LAST ADIECJ. 
Au, }' ail fit (pivyfi. — Anacreon. 

TiiK roses of love glad the garden of life^ 
Though nm'tin-'d 'mid weeds di-opping 
pestilent dew. 

Till time crops the leaves with unmerciful knife, 
Or pmnes them for ever, in love's last adieu. 

[n vain with endearments we soothe the sad 
heart, 

In vain do we vow for an age to be tnie ; 
The chance of an hour may command us to part. 

Or death disunite us in love's last adieu ! 



Oh ! who ys yon misanthrope, shimiiinj 
mankind? 
From cities to caves of the forest he flew . 
There, raving, he howls his complaint to Uif 
wind; 
I'he mountains reverberate love's last adieu. 

Now hate rules a heart which in love's e&ny 
chains [knew, 

Once passion's tumultuous llandishmeuti 
Despair nov,- inflames the dark tide of his veins; 

He ponders in frenzy ol love's last adieu I 

How he envies the wretch with a soul wrapt 

in steel ! [are few, 

His pleasures are scarce, yet his troubles 

Who laughs at the pang that he never can feel. 

And dreads not the anguish of love's last 

adieu ! 

Youth flies, life decays, even hope is o'ercast; 

No more wth love's fonner devotion we sue: 
He spreads Ms young wing, he retii-es with 
the blast ; 

The slyoud of affection is love's last adieu! 

In this life of probation for rapture divine, 
Astrea declares that som-e penance is due; 

From him who has woi'shipp'd at love's gentle 
sbrine, 
The atonement is ample in love's last adieu ! 

W[w kneels to the god, on his altar of light 
Must mjTtle and cypress alternately stre-w; 

His myrtle, an emblem of purest delight; 
His cypress the garland of love's last adien' 



Still Hope, breathing peace tkrough the giicf- 

swollen breast, [renew :" 

Will whisper, " Our meeting we yet may 

Witli this dream of deceit hall' om* sorrow 's 

represt. 

Nor taste we the poison of love's last adieu ! 

h! mark you yon pair: in the sunshine of 

youth [flow'rs as they grew ; 

Lovo twined round their childhood his 

They flourish awhile in the season of truth, 

Till chill'd by the winter oflove's last adieu. 

Sweet lady ! why thus doth a tear steal its way 
Do mi a cheek which ouliivals thy bosom ia 
huef 

STet why do I ask? — to distraction a prey, 
Thy reason has peiish'd with love's last adieu. 



DAM^TAS. 

In law an infant,4" and in years a boy, 
In mind a slave to every vicious joy; 
From every sense of shame and virtue weaa'dj 
In lies an adept, in deceit a fiend; 
Versed in hypocrisy, while yet a child; 
Fickle as wind, of inclinations wild; 
Woman his dupe, his heedless friend a tool : 
Old in the world, though scarcely broke from 

school ; 
Damftitas ran through all the maze of sin, 
And found the goal when others just begin: 
Even still conflicting passions shake his soul. 
And bid him drait the dregs of pleasure's bowl; 
B ut, pall d with vice, he breaks his former chain. 
And what was once his bliss appears his bane.'*' 



144 



HOTJPvS OF IDLENESS. 



TO MARION. 

Marion! why that pensive brow? 

What disgust to life hast thou? 

Change that discontented air ; 

Frowais become, not one so fair. 

'T is not love disturbs thy rest, 

Love 's a stranger to thy breast; 

He in dimpling smiles appears, 

Or mourns in sweetly timid tears, 

Or bends the languid eyelid down, 

But shuns the cold forbidding frown. 

Then resmne thy foimer fue. 

Some will love, and all admire; 

While that icy aspect chills us, 

Nought but cool indifference thrills us. 

Wouldst thou wandering hearts beguile, 

Smile at least, or seem to smile. 

Eyes like thine were never meant 

To hide their orbs in dark restraint; 

Spite of all thou fain wouldst say. 

Still in truant beams they play. 

Thy lips — but here my modest Muse 

Hev impulse chaste must needs refuse : 

She blushes, curt'sies, frowns — in short she 

Dreads lest the subject should transport me; 

And flying off in search of reason, 

Brings prudence back in proper season. 

All I shall therefore say (whate'er 

I think, is neither here nor there) 

Is, that such lips, of looks endearing, 

Were fonn'd for better things than sneering: 

Of smoothing compliments divested. 

Advice at least's disinterested; 

Such is my artless song to thee. 

From all the flow of flatteiy free; 

Counsel like mine is like a brother's 

My aeait is given to some others ; 

That is to say, unskill'd to cozen, 

It shares itself among a dozen, 

Marion, adieu! oh, prythee slight not 

This warning, though it may delight not. 

And, lest my precepts be displeasing 

To those who think remonstrance teasing^ 

At once I '11 tell thee our opinion 

Concerning woman's soft dominion: 

Howe'er we gaze with admiration 

On eyes of blue or lips cam;>tion, 

Howe'er the Homing locks attract us, 

Howe'er those beauties may distract us 

Still fickle, we are prone to rove. 

These cannot fix our souls to love . 

It is not too severe a stricture 

To say they form a pretty picture ; 

But wouldst thou see the secret chain 

Which binds us in }'our humble train, 



To hail you queens of all ctfeation. 
Know, in a word, 't is Animation. 



TO A LADY 

WHO PEESENTED TO THE AUTHOR A LOCK OP 
HAIR BRAIDED WITH HIS OWN, AND AP. 
POINTED A NIGHT IN DECEMBER TO MEiSl 
HIM IN THE GARDEN. 

These locks, which fondly thus entwine. 
In firmer chains our hearts confire. 
Than all th' unmeaning protestations 
Which swell with nonsense love orations. 
Our love is fix'd, I think we 've proved it. 
Nor time, nor place, nor art have moved it; 
Then wherefore should we sigh and whine 
With gi'oundless jealousy repine, 
With silly whims and fancies frantic. 
Merely to make our love romantic? 
Why should you weep like Lydia Languisb 
And fret with self-created anguish? 
Or doom the lover you have chosen. 
On winter nights to sigh half frozen ; 
In leafless shades to sue for pardon. 
Only because the scene 's a garden? 
For gardens seem, by one consent. 
Since Shakspeare set the precedent, 
Since Juliet first declared her passion 
To form the place of assignation. 
Oh! would some modem muse inspire, 
And seat her by a sea-coal fire; 
Or had the bard at Christmas written. 
And laid the scene of love in Britain, 
He surely, in commiseration, 
Had changed the place of declaration. 
In Italy I 've no objection ; 
Warm nights are proper for reflection; 
But here our climate is so rigid. 
That love itself is rather frigid: 
Think on our chilly situation. 
And curb this rage for imitation ; 
Then let us me"t, as oft we 've done. 
Beneath the influence of the sun; 
Or, if at midnight I must meet you, 
Within your mansion let me greet you 
There we can love for hoin-s together. 
Much better, in such snowy weather, 
Than placed in all th' Arcadian gi'ovefc 
Tiiat ever witness'd rural loves; 
Then, if my passion fail to please, 
Next night I '11 be content to freeze; 
No more I '11 give a loose to laughter. 
But curse rav fate for ever aftet 



HOURS OF IDLENESS. 



145 



OSCAR OF ALVA. 



They feast upon the mountain deer 
The pibroch raised its piercing note:* 

To gladden more their highland cheer, 
The sti-aius in martial numbers float: 



Eow sweetlj' shines through azure skies 
The lamp of heaven on Lora's shore; 

Where Alva's hoary liinets rise, 
And hear the d> i cl" aims no more 

But often has yon rolling moon 
On Alva's casques of silver play'd ; 

and view'd, at midnight's silent noon, 
Her chiefs in gleaming mail aiTay'd • 

And on the crirason'd rocks beneath, 
Which scowl o'er ocean's sullen flow 

Pale in the scatter'd ranks of death, 
She saw the gasping warrior low ; 

While many an eye which ne'er again 
Could mark the rising orb of day, 

furu'd feebly from the gory plain. 
Beheld in death her fading ray. 

Once to those eyes the lamp of Love, 
They blest her dear propitious light. 

But now she giimraer'd from above, 
A sad, funereal torch of night. 

Faded is Alva s noble race. 

And gi"ay her towers are seen afar; 
No more her heroes urge the chase. 

Or roll the crimson tide of war. 

But who was last of Alva's clan ? 

Why grows the moss on Aiva's stone? 
Ja ;■ towers resound no steps of man, 

i'hey echo to the gale alone. 



And they who heard the war-notes wild 
Hoped that one day the pibroch's straiti 

Should play before the hero's child 
While he should lead Oie tartan train. 

Another year is quickly past, 

And Angus hails another son; 
His natal day is like the last, 

Nor soon the jocund feast was done. 

Taught by their sire to bend the bow 

On Alva's dusky hills of wind, 
The boys in childhood chased the roe, 

And left their hounds in speed behind. 

But ere their years of youth are o'er. 
They mingle in the ranks of war; 

They lightly wheel the bright claymore 
And send the whistling arrow far. 

Dark was the flow of Oscar's hair. 
Wildly it stream 'd along the gale; 

But Allan's locks were bright and fair, 
And pensive secm'd his cheek, and pale. 

But Oscar own'd a hero s soul. 

His dark eye shone through beams of truifa 
Allan had early learn'd coi,trol, 

And smooth his words had been from youA 

Both, both were brave : the Saxon spear 
Was shiver'd oft beneath their steel; 

And Oscar's bosom scorn'd to fear, 
But Oscar's bosom knew to feel ; 



^;.(i when that gale is fierce and high, 
A sound is heard in yonder hall; 

U rises hoarsely through the sky, 
And vibrates o'er the mouldering walL 

Tes, when the eddying tempest sighs, 
It shakes the shield ot Oscar brave; 

But there no more his banners rise, 
No more his plumes of sable wave. 

Fair shone the sun on Oscar's birth, 
When Angus hail'd his eldest bom; 

T^ie vassals round their chieftain's hearth 
Crowd to applaud the hap}>y moin. 



WTiile Allan's soul belied his form, 
Unworthy with such ehaiTns to dwell : 

Keen as the lightning of the storm. 
On foes his deadly vengeance fell. 

P'rom high Southannon's distant tower 
Arrived a yotmg and noble dame ; 

With Kenneth's lands to form her do-wtr, 
Glenalvon's blue-eyed daughter camej 

And Oscar claim'd the beauteous bride, 

nd Angus on his Oscar smiled: 
It soothed th'e father's feudal pride 
I lius to obtain Glenalvon's child 



11 



146 



HOURS OF IDLENESS. 



Hark to the pibroch's pleasing note ! 

Harlc to the swelling nuptial song! 
In joyous strains the voices float. 

And still the coral peal prolong. 



" Oscar ! my son ! — thon God of Heav'l 
Restore the prop of sinking age I 

Or if that hope no more is given, 
Yield his assassin to my rage. 



See how the heroes' blood-red plumes 
Asseniblod wave in Alva's hall ; 
ach youth his varied plaid assumes, 
Attending on their chieftain's call. 



" Yes, on some desert rocky shore 
My Oscar's whitcn'd bones must lie ; 

Then grant, thou God ! I ask no moDi, 
With him his frantic sire may die ! 



It is not war their aid demands, 

The i>iln-och plays the song of peace ; 

To Oscar's nuptials throng the bands. 
Nor yet tlie sounds of pleasure cease. 



" Yet he may live, — away, despair ! 

Be calm, my soul ! he yet may live 
T' aiTaign my fate, my voice forbear ! 

God I my impious prayer forgive 



But where is Oscar? sure 'tis late: 
Is this a bridegroom's ardent flame ? 

While thronging guests and ladies wait, 
Nor Oscar nor his brother came. 



" What, if he live for me no more, 
I sink forgotten in the dust. 

The hope of Alva's age is o'er ; 

Alas ! can pangs like these be just?* 



At length young Allan join'd the bride: 
" Why comes not Oscar," Angus said; 

" Is he not here?" the youth replied; 
" With me he roved not o'er the glade 

" Perchance, forgetful of the day, 
'T is his to chase the bounding roe ; 

Or ocean's waves prolong his stay ; 
Yet Oscar's bark is seldom slow." 

" Oh, no!" tJie anguish'd sire rejoin'd, 
" Nor chase nor wave my boy delay ; 

Would he to Mora seem imkind ? 
Would aught to her impede his way ? 

" Oh, search, ye chiefs ! oh, search around 
Allan, with tliese through Alva fly ; 

/ill Oscar, till my son is found, 
Haste, haste, nor dai-e attempt reply.' 

»l\\ is confusion — tln-ough the vale 
The name of Oscar hoarsely rings, 

ft rises on the munmuring gale. 

Till night expands her dusky wings ; 

[t breaks the stillness of the night, 

Bn.t echoes through her shades in vain, 

£t sounds through morning's misty light, 
But Oscar comes not o'er the plain. 

rhrce days, three sleepless nights, the Chief 
For Oscar seai'ch'd each mountain cave ! 

Then hope is lost ; in boundless giief, 
His locks in graj'-tom ringle'a wave. 



Thus did the hapless parent moum. 
Till Time, which soothes severest woe 

Had bade serenity return, 

And made the tcar-di'op cease to flow- 

For still some latent hope survived 
Tliat Oscar might once more appear; 

His hope now droop'd and now revived, 
Till Time had told a tedious rear. 

Days roll'd along, the orb of light 
Again had nin his destined race; 

No Oscar bless'd his father's sight, 
And soiTOw left a fainter trace. 

For youthful Allan still remain'd. 
And now his father's only joy : 

And Mora's heart was (piickly gain'd. 
For beauty crown'd the fair-hair'd boy. 

She thought that Oscar low was laid. 
And Allan's face was wondrfuis fair ; 

If Oscar lived, some other maid 

Had claim'd his faitliless bosom'.s cai* 

And Angus said, if one year re re 
In fruitless hope was pass'd away. 

His fondest scruples should be o'er, 
And he would name their nuptial day. 

Slow roll'd the moons, but blest at last 
Arrived the dearly destined mom ; 

The year of anxious trembling past, 
What srniles the lovers' cheeks a«l«m . 



HOURS OF n)LENESS. 



147 



Haric to the pibroch's pleasing note ! 

Hark to the swelling nuptial song ! 
In joyous strains the voices float, 

And still the coral peal prolong. 

Again the clan, in festive crowd, 

Throng through the gate of Alva's hall ; 

The sounds of mirth re-echo loud, 
And all their fonner joy rec;dl. 

But who is he, whose darken'd brow 
Glooms in the midst of general mirth ? 

Before his eyes' far fiercer glow 

The blue fliuiies cui-dle o'er the hearth. 

Dark is the robe which wraps his foim. 
And tall his plume of gory red ; 

His voice is like the rising storm, 
But light and trackless is his tread. 

'T is noon of night, the pledge goes round, 
The bridegroom's health is deeply quatiTd; 

With shouts the vaulted roofs resound. 
And all combine to hail the ch-aught. 

Sudden the sUanger-chief arose, 

And all the clamorous crowd are hush'd ; 
And Angus' cheek with wonder glows, 

And Mora's tender bosom blush'd. 

" Old man !" he criea, " this pledge is done ; 

Thou saw'st 't was duly di-ank by me : 
It hail'd the nuptials of thy son : 

Now will I claim a pledge from thee. 

" ^VhiIe all around is mirth and joy, 

To bless thy Allan's happy lot. 
Say, had'st thou ne'er another boy ? 

Say, why should Osciu- be forgot ?" 

" Alas !" the hapless sire replied. 
The big tear starting as he spoke, 

•• When Oscar left my hall, or died, 
Tliis aged heai't was almost broke. 

" Thi-ice has the earth revolved her course 
Since Oscar's form has bless'd my sight ; 

And Allan is my last resource. 

Since mai-tial Oscai-'s death or flight." 

" 'T is well," replied the stranger stem. 
And fiercely flash'd his rolling eye : 

" Thy Oscar's fate I fain would learn : 
Perhaps the hero did not die 



" Perchance, if those whom most he loved 
Would call, thy Oscar might i-etui-n ; 

Perchance the chief has only roved ; 
For him thy beltane yet may bm-n.50 

" Fill high the bowl the table round, 

We %\ill not claim the pledge by stealth ; 

With wine let every cup be crown d ; 
Pledge me depaited Oscai's health." 

" With all my soul," old Angus said, 
And fill'd his goblet to tlie brim ; 

" Here 's to my boy ! alive, or dead, 
I ne'er shall find a son like him." 

" ]>ravely, old man, this health has sped ; 

But why does Allan ti-embling stand ? 
Come, drink remembiance of the dead, 

And raise thy cup with firmer hand." 

The crimson glow of Allan's face 
Was turn'd at once to ghastly hue ; 

The drops of death each other chase 
Adown in agonizing d^w. 

Thrice did he rjiise the goblet high. 
And thrice his lips refused to taste; 

For thrice he caught the stranger's eye 
On his %vitli deadly fmy placed. 

" And is it thus a brother hails 

A brother's fond remembrance here ? 

If thus affection's strength prevails, 
What might we not expect fnmi fear?* 

Roused by the sneer, he raised the bowl, 
" Would Oscar now could share our mirth.'' 

Internal fear appall'd his soul ; 

He said, and dash'd the cup to earth. 

" 'T is he ! I hear my murderer's voice !" 
Loud shrieks a darkly gleaming form, 

" A murderer's voice !" the roof replies 
And deeply swells the biu-sting storai. 

The tapers wink, the chieftains shrinn, 
The stranger 's gone, — amidst the crew 

A form was seen in tartan green, 
And tall the shade terrific grew. 

His waist was bound with a broad belt rounA 
His plume of sable stream'd on high ; 

But his breast was bare, with the red wourtiU 
there, 
And fix'd was the glare of his glassy eye. 



148 



HOURS OF IDLENESS. 



Ard tbiicf^ he smiled. wit}i his eye so wild, 
On Angus bending low the Imcc ; [gi-ound, 

And tlirice he tVwwn'd oa a chief on the 
Whom shivering crowds with honor see. 

The bolts loud roll, from pole to pole, 
I'he thunders through the welkin ring, 

Aiid the gleaming fonn, tln-ough the mist of 
the storm, 
Was borne on high by the whirlwind's wang. 

Cold was the feast, the revel ceased, 

Who lies upon the stony floor ? 
Oblivion press'd old Angus' breast. 

At length his life-pulse thi-obs once more. 

" Away, away ! let the leech essay 
To pom- the hght on Allan's eyes :" 

His sand is done, — his race is run ; 
Oh ! never more shall Allan rise ! 

But Oscar's breast h cold as clay 
His locks are liftc i by the gale: 

And Allan's barbed arrow lay 

With him in dark Glentanar s vale. 

And whence the dreadful stranger came, 
Or who, no mortal wight can tell ; 

But no one doubts the ibrm of il.une. 
For Alva's sons knew Oscar well. 

Ambition nerved young Allan's hand, 
ExuAing demons wing'd his dart; 

WTaileTEnvy waved her bm-ning brand, 
And poiu-'d her venom round his heart 

Swift IS the shaft from Allan's bow , 

Whose streaming life-blood stains his side? 

Dark Oscar's sable crest is low, 
The dart has chunk his vital tide. 

And Mora s eye could Allan move, 
She bade his woiuj^lcd pride rebel ; 

Alas I that eyes which beam'd with love 
Should lu-ge the soul to deeds of hell. 

Lo I seest thou not a lonely tomb 
Which rises o'er a warrior dead ? 

It glimiJicrs through the twilight gloom; 
Oh ! that IS AUan's nuptial bed. 

Far. distant far, the noble grave 
"Whicli held his clan's great ashes stood; 

^nd o'er his corse no banners wave, 
For they were stain'd with kindred blood. 



"What minstrel gray, what hoary baid. 
Shall Allan's deeds on harp-sti-ings raise? 

The song is glory's chief reward, 

But who can strike a mui-derer'.« praise ? 

Unstrung, nntouch'd, the harp must staiid. 
No minstrel dare the theme awake ; 

Guilt would benumb his palsied hajid. 
His harp in shuadering chords woidd break 

No lyre of fame, no hallow'd verse, 
Shall sound his glories high in air : 

A dying father's bitter cm-se, 

A brother's death-groan echoes there. 



THE EPISODE OF NISUS AND 
EUKYALUS, 

A PARAPHRASE FROM THE SNEID, LIB, IX 

Nis0s, the guardian of the portal, stood, 
Eager to gild his anns with hostile blood; 
Well skill'd in fight the qui vering lance to wield, 
Or pour his arrows through th' embattled field . 
From Ida torn, he left his sylvan cave, 
And sought a foreign home, a distant grave. 
To watch the movements of the Daunian host, 
With him Euryalus sustains the post; 
No lovelier mien adoiii'd the ranks of Troy, 
And beardless bloomyet graced the gallantboy ; 
Though few the seasons of his youthful Ufe, 
As yet a novice in the martial strife, 
T was his, with beauty, valour's gifts to share-^ 
A soul heroic, as his form was fair: [love; 
These burn \\ith one pm-e flame of generous 
In peace, in war, united still they move; 
Friendship and glory foim their joint reward , 
And now combined they hold their nightly 
guard 

" What god, exclaim'd the first, " mstUs 

this fire ? 
Or, in itself a god, v.diat gi-eat desire? 
My labouring soul, with anxious thought 

oppress'd, 
Abhors this station of inglorious rest, 
The love of fame with this cim ill accord, 
Be 't mine to seek for glory with my sword 
Seest thou yon camp, with torches twinkling 

dim, 
"Where drunken slumbers wrap each lazy limb? 
Where confidence and case the watch disdain, 
And drowsy Silence holds her sablo reign i 



HOURS OF IDLENESS. 



149 



Tnen hear my thought: — iu aeep aua suhcn 
grief [chief: 

Our troops and leaders mourn their absent 
Now could the gifts and promised prize be thine 
(The deed, the danger, and the fume be mine). 
Were this decreed, beneath yon rising mound 
Melhinks, an easy path perchance were found; 
Which past, I speed my way to Pallas walls 
And Icful ^Kneas from Evandcr's halls." 

With equal ardour fired, and warlike joy, 
His glowing friend addi'ess'd the Dai'dan boy : — 
"' These deeds, my Nisus,shalt thou dare alone? 
Must all the fame, the peril, be thine owai? 
Am I by thee despised, and left fifai-, 
As one unfit to shai'e the toils of war? 
Not thus his son the gi'eat Opheltes taught ; 
Not thus my sire in Ai-give combats fought ; 
Not thus, when Ilion fell by heavenly hate, 
I track'd ^Eneas through the walks of late : 
Thou know'st my deeds, my breast devoid o 

fear, 
And hostile life-drops dim my gory spear 
Heie is a soul with hope immortal burns, 
And life, ignoble life, for glory spurns. 
Fame, fame is cheaply eam'dby tketing breath* 
The price of hououi" is the sleep of death." 

ihen Nisus, — " Calm thy bosom's fona 

alarars, 
Thy heart beats fiercely to the din of anns. 
More dear thy worth and valour tlranmyown, 
I swear by him who fills Olympus throne ! 
So may I triumph, as I speak the truth. 
And clasp again the comrade of my youth ! 
But should I fiill, — and he who dares advance 
"hi'ough hostile legions must abide b^ 

chance, — 
If some Rutuhan aiTn, with adverse blow, 
Should lay the friend w^ho ever loved thee low. 
Live thou, such beauties I would fain preserve, 
Thy budding ye;irs a lengthen'd term deserve. 
When humbled in the dust, let some one be, 
vVliose gentle eyes wi! I shed one tear for me ; 
^''hosemanly ann may snatchme back by force, 
Or wealth redeem from foes my cajitive corse; 
Or, if my destiny these last deny, 
If in the spoiler's power my ashes lie. 
Thy pious care may raise a simple tomb, 
To mark thy love, and-signalize my doom. 
Why should tliy doting vv^retched mother weep 
Hm- only boy, reciinci in endless sleep? 
Who, for thy sake, the tempest's fury dared, 
VVJio, for tliy sake, war's deadly peril shared; 
Who braved what woman never braved before, 
And left her native for the Latian shore." 



" m vain you damp ac ardour of my soul. 
Replied Euiyalus: "it scorns conl/-ol'! [arose 
Hence, let us haste!" — their brother guards 
Roused by their call, nor court again repose; 
The pair, buoy'd up on Hope's exulting wing 
Their- stations leave, and speed to seek the kin* 

Now o'er the earth a solemn stillness ran, 
And lull'd alike the cares of brute and man ; 
Save where the Dardan leaders nightly hold. 
Alternate converse, and their plans unfold. 
On one great point the council are agreed. 
An instant message to their prince decreed ; 
Eachlean'd upon the lance hewell could wield,, 
And poised with easy arm his ancient shield ; 
A^Hien Nisus and his friend their leave request 
To oli'er sometliing to their high behest. 
With anxious tremors, yet unawed by fear, 
The faithful pair before the throne appear : 
lulus gi-eets them; at his kind command, 
The elder fii'st address'd the hoary band. 

" With patience" (thus Hyrtacides began) 
" Attend, nor judge f'-om youth our humble plan 
M''here yonder beacons half expiring beam, 
Our slumbering foes of future conquest dream 
Nor heed that we a secret path have traced. 
Between the ocean and the portal placed. 
Beneath the covert of the blackening smoke. 
Whose shade securely our aesign \v\\\ cloak . 
If you, ye chiefs, and fortune will allow. 
We'll bend our course to yonder mountain's 

brow, 
Wliere Pallas' walls at distance meet the sight, 
Seen o'er the glade, when not obscured by night ; 
Then shall ^neas in his pride return, [urn; 
"WTiile hostile matrons raise their ofFsj^ring's 
And Latian spoils and purpled heaps of dead 
Shall mark the havoc of our hero's tread. 
Such is our puipose, not unknown the way ; 
WTiere yonder torrent's devious waters stray, 
Oft have we seen, when hunting by the streait. 
The distant spires above the valleys gleam." 

Mature in years, for sober wisdom famed, 
Moved by the speech, Alethes here exclaim'd, — 
" Ye parent gods! who rule the fate of Troy, 
Still dwelk the Dardan spirit in the boy ; 
When minds like these in striplings llms \e 

raise. 
Yours is the godlike act, be yours the praise; 
In gallant youth, my fainting hopes revive, 
And Ilion's wonted glories still survive." 
Then iu his warm embrace the boys he 

press'd. 
And, quivering. Siraiu'd them to his aged breast 



150 



HOURS OF IDLENESS. 



Wilh tears the buining cheek of each bedew'd, 
And, sobbing, thnshis lirst discourse renew'd: 
" What gift, my countrymen, what martial prize 
Can we bestow, which yon may not despise? 
Onr deities the first best boon have given — 
Internal virtues are the gift of Heaven. 
MTaai poor rewards can bless your deeds on 

earth, 
Doubtless await such young, exalted worth. 
.Eiicas and Ascanius shall combine 
To yiela applause far, far surpassing mine." 
lulus then: — " By all the powers above! 
By those Penates who my country love! 
By hoary Vesta's saci-ed fane, I swear, 
My hopes are all in you, ye generous pair! 
Restore niy father to my grateful sight, 
And all my sorrows yield to one delight. 
Nisus! two silver goblets are thine own. 
Saved from Arisba's stately domes o'erthrown 
My sire secured them on that fatal day, 
Nor left such bowls an Argive robber's prey: 
Two massy tripods, also, shall be thine; 
Two talents polish'd from the glittering mine ; 
An ancient cup, which Tyrian Dido gave, 
WiiWe yet our vessels press'd thePanic wave- 
But when^the hostile chiefs at length bow down 
When great ^Eneas wears If espeiia's crown, 
The casque, the buckler, and the fiery steed 
Which Turn us grides wiih niore than mortal 

speed, 
Are thine; no envious lot shall then be cast, 
I pledge my word, irrevocably past: [dames, 
Nay more, twelve slaves, and twice six captive 
To soothe thy softer hours with amorous flames, 
And all the realms which now the Lulins sway 
The labom-s of to-night shall well rep;iy. 
But thou, my generous youtli, whose tender 

years [veres, 

Are near my o%vn, whose worth my heart re 
Henceforth affection, sweetly thus begun, 
Shall join our bos )ms and our souls in one; 
Without thy aid, no glory shall be mine ; 
Without thy dear advice, no great design ; 
Alike through life esteem'd, thou godli!<e boy 
[n war my bulwark, and in peace my joy." 

To him Euiyalus : — " No day shall shame 
Th^ rising glories which from this I claiu:. 
Fori me may favour, or the skies may frown 
Biu. '/alour, spite of fate, obtains renown. 
\^et, ere from hence our eager steps d( part. 
One boon I beg, the nearest to my heart : 
My mother, sprung from Piiam's royal line. 
Line t'dne enui>bled, hardly less divine, 
N<-r T oy nor king Acestcs' realms restrain 

•.r ^ «blc age from dangers of the main ; 



Alone she cume, all selfish fears abore, 
A bright example of maternal love. 
UnknowTi the secret entei-prise I brave, 
Lest grii.fshould bend my parent to the grave. 
From this alone no fond adieus I seek. 
No fainti ng mother's lips have press'd my cheek ; 
By gloomy night and thy right hand I vow 
Her parting tears would shake my pu-poia 

now : 
Do thou, my prince, her failing age sustain. 
In thee her much loved child may live again ; 
Her dying hours wilh pious c(3nduct bless, 
Assist her wants, relieve her fond distress: 
So dear a hope must all my sovd inflame. 
To rise in glory, or to fall in fame." 
Struck with a filial care so deeply felt, 
In tears at once the Trojan warriors melt: 
Faster than all, lulus' eyes o'erllow; 
Such love was his, and such had been his woe 
" All thou hast ask'd, receive," the princ« 

replied ; 
" Nor this alone, but u :■' y a gift beside. 
To cheer thy molhi i'.-, \ ..rs shall be my aim, 
Creusa's^l style but waMing to the dame. 
Fortune an adverse wayward course may ru'^i, 
But bless'd thy mclhcr in so dear a son. 
Now, bymy life! — mysire'smost sacred oath — 
To thee I pledge my full, my firmest troth. 
All the rewards which once to thee were vow d 
If thou shouldst fall, on her shall be bes'.ow'd. 
Thus spolce the weeping prince, then fortli to 

view 
A gleaming falchion from the sheath he drew j 
Lycaon's utmost skill had gi-aced the steel. 
For friends to envy and for foes to feel : 
A tawny hide, the Moorish lion's spoil, 
Slain "midst the forest, in the hunter's toil 
Mneslhcus to guard the elder youth bestows, 
And old Alethes' casque defends his brows. 
Ann'd, thence tliey go, while all th' assembled 

train, 
To aid their cause, implore the gods in vain 
More than a boy, in wisdom and in gi'ace, 
lulus holds iStoiidst the chiefs his place : 
His prayer he sends; but what can prayers 

avail. 
Lost in the mm'mm's of the sighing gale ! 

The trench is passed, and, favour 'd by the 
night, [flight. 

Through sleeping foes they wheel their wary 

When shall the slec]) of many a foe be o'er ? 

Alas! some slumber who shall wake no more! 

Chariots and bridles, mix'dwith ai7ns,are seo«i; 

And flowing flasks, and scatter 'd ti'oopa be- 
tween : 



HOURS OF IDLENESS. 



151 



Bacchus and Mars to rule the camp combine; 
A mingled chaos this of war and wine, [pare, 
" Now," cries the fust, " for deeds of blood prc- 
With nie the conquest and the labour shai-e: 
Here lies our path ; lest any hand aiise, 
Watch ihou, while many a dreaming chieftain 

dies: 
I '11 carve our passage through the heedless foe, 
A ad clear thy road with many a deadly blow." 
His whispering accents then the youth repress'd. 
And pierced proud Rhamues tlirough his 

panting breast: 
Stretch'd at his ease, th' incautious kingreposed ; 
Debauch, and not fatigue, his eyes had closed 
To Turnus dear, a prophet and a prince. 
His omens more than augur's skill evince; 
But he, who thus foretold the fate of all, 
Could not avert his own untimely fall. 
Next Remus' armour-bearer, hapless, fell. 
And three unhappy shu-es the carnage swell ; 
The chaiioteer along his courser's sides 
Expires, the steel his scver'd neck divides; 
And, last, his lord is number'd with the dead 
Bounding convulsive, tlies tlie gasping head; 
From the swoll'n veins the blackening torrents 

pour ; 
Stain'd is the couch and cartli with clotting gore 
Voung Lamyrus and Lamus next expire. 
And gay Serranus, fiU'd with youthful fire ; 
Half the long night in childish g;mics was 

pass'd , 
Lnll'd by the potent grape, he slept at last: 
Ah ! happier far had he the morn survey'd. 
And till Aurora's dawn his skill display'd. 

In slaughter'd fold, the keepers lost in sleep, 
fjis hungry fangs a lion thus may steep ; 
Vlid the sad flock, at dead of night he prowls, 
V'ith murder glutted, and in canuige rolls : 
Inaaliate still, through teeming herds "ne roams; 
Tn seas of gore the lordly tyrant foams. 

Nor less the other's deadly vengeance camCj 
But falls on feeble crowds without a name ; 
His wound unconscious Fadus scarce can feel 
Yet wakeful Rhajsus sees the threatening steel; 
His coward breast behind ajar he hides, 
And vainly in the weak defence confides ; 
Full inhis heart, the falchion searched his veins, 
The reeking weapon bears alternate stains ; 
Through wuie and blood, commingling as 

they flow. 
One feeble spiiit seeks the shades below. 
^lovr where Messapus dwelt they bend theii 

way, 
^^os^'. fires emit a faint and trembling rai'i 



■Riere, imconfinod, behold each gi-azing steed 
Unwatch'd, unheeded, on the herbage feed: 
Brave Nisus here arrests his conn-ade's arui, 
Too liush'd with carnage, and with conques- 

warm : 
" Hence let us haste, the dangerous path is 

piss'd; [las'.: 

Full foes enough to-night nave breathed their 
Soon will the day those eastern clouds adorn ; 
Now let us speed, nor tempt the rising moi-n." 

With silver arm'?, with various art emboss'd, 
What bowls and mantles in confusion toss'd, 
They leave regardless I yet one glittering prize 
Attracts the younger hero's wandering eyes ; 
The gilded harness Rhamnes' coui-sers felt, 
The gems which stud the monarch's golden bell • 
This from the pallid corse was quickly torn, 
Once by a line of Ibmier chieftains worn. 
Th' exulting boy tlie studded girdle wears, 
Messapus' helm his head in ti-iumph bears ; 
Then from the tents their cautious steps they 

bend. 
To seek Uie vale wliere safer paths extend. 

Just at this hour, a band of Latian horse 
To Turnus' camp pursue their destined course 
While the slow foot their lardy march delay, 
The knights, impatient, spur along the way : 
Throe hundred mail-clad men, by Volscens led 
To Turnus with their masters promise sped : 
Now they ajjproach the trench, and view the 

walls, 
When, on the left, a light reflection falls ; 
The plundcr'd helmet, through the waning night 
Sheds forth a silver radiance, glancing bright. 
Volscens wiili question loud the pair alarms : — 
" Stand, stragglers ! stand ! why early thus in 

arms? [reply? 

From whence, to whom?" — He meets with ne 
Trusting the covert of the night, they fly : 
The thicket's depth with hurried pace they tread, 
While round tlie wood the hostile squadron 

spiead. 

Withbrakesentangled,scarceapathbetween, 
Dreary and dark appears the sylvan scene : 
Euryalus his heavy spoils impede, 
The boughs and winding turns his steps mislead : 
But Nisus scours along the forest's maz'" 
To where Latinus' steeds in safety graze, 
Then backward o'er the plain his eyes extend 
On every side they seek his absent friend. 
" Oh God ! my boy," he cries, " of me bereft, 
Tn woat impending perils art thou left'" 



152 



HOURS OF IDLENESS. 



Listening he runs — ^above the waving trees, 
rumultuous voices swell the passing breeze ; 
The war-cry rises, thundering hoofs around 
Wake the dark echoes of the trembhng ground. 
Again he turns, of footsteps hears the noise; 
The sound elates, the sight his hope desti-oya , 
The hapless boy a riiihan train suiTound, 
While lengthening shades his weary way 

confound ; 
Him with loud shouts the furious knights pursue, 
Struggling in vain, a captive to the crew. 
W^hat can his friend 'gainst iln-onging numbera 

dare ? 
Ah ! must he rush, his comrade's fate to share ? 
"What force, what aid, what stratagem essay, 
Back to redeem the Latian spoiler's prey? 
His life a votive ransom nobly give, 
Or die with him for whom he wish'd to live? 
Poising with strengtii his lifted lance on high, 
On Luna's orb he cast his frenzied eye: — 
" Goddess serene, transcending every star ! 
Queen of the sky, whose beams are seen afar I 
Bynight heaven owns thy sway , by day the gi'ove, 
\Vhen,as chaste Dian, here thou deign'st to rove : 
If e'er myself, or sire, have sought to giace 
Thine altars with the produce of the chase, 
Speed, speed my dai-t to pierce yon vaunting 

crowd, 
To free my friend, and scatter far the proud." 
Thus having said, the hissing dart he flung ; 
Tlirough parted shades the hurtling weapon 

sung; 
The thirsty point in Sulrao's entrails lay, 
Transfix'd his heart, and stretch'd him on the 

clay : 
He sobs, he dies, — the troop in wild amaze. 
Unconscious whence the death, with horror 

gaze. [riven, 

\Miile pale they stare, through Tagus temples 
A second shaft with equal force is driven. 
Fierce Volscens rolls around his lowering eyes; 
''eil'd by the night, secure the Trojan lies, 
b iming" with wrath, he view'd his soldiers fall. 
" Thoo youth accurst, thy life shall pay for all !" 
Quick from the sheath his flaming glaive he 

drew. 
And, ragi»g, on the boy defenceless flew. 
Nisus no more the blackening shade conceals, 
Forth, forth he starts, and all his love revesils: 
Aghast, confused, his fears to madness rise, 
And pour these accents, shrieking as he flies : 
"Me, me, — your vengeance hurl on me alone; 
Here sheathe the steel, my blood is all your o\\'n. 
Ve sttmy spheres ! thou conscious Heaven ! 
attest ! [fest ! 

H« could .not- durst not— lo ! the guile con- 



All, all was mine, — his early fate sv«p<ind ; 
He only loved too well his hapless ft lend : 
Spaj'e, spare, ye chiefs' from him your rage 

remove ; 
His fault was friendship, all his crime was love." 
He pray'd in vain ; the dai'k assassin's sword 
Pierced the fair side, the snowy bosom gored , 
Lowly to earth inclines his plimie-eiid cresfc, 
And sanguine ton-en ts mantle o'er his breasi : 
As some young rose, whose blossom scentt 

the air, 
Languid in death, expires beneath the share ; 
Or crimson popp}"-, sinking with the shower. 
Declining gently, falls a fading flower ; 
Thus, sweetly drooping, bends his lovely head. 
And lingering beauty hovei-s round the dead. 

But fiery Nisus stems the battle's tide. 
Revenge his leader, and des])air his guide ; 
Volscens he seeks amidst the gathering host, 
Volscens must soon appeasn his comrade's 

ghost ; [foe , 

Steel, flashing, pours on steel, foe crowds on 
Rage ncn-es his arm, fate gleams in every 

Wow ; 
In vain beneath unnumber'd wounds he bleeds, 
Nor wounds, nor death, distracted Nisus heeds; 
In viewless circles wheel'd, his falchion flies. 
Nor quits the hero's grasp till Volscens dies ; 
Deep in his throat its end the weapon found. 
The tyrant's soul fled groaning thr n;gh the 

wound. 
Thus Nisus all his fond affection proved — 
Dying, revenged the fate of him he loved ; 
Then on his bosom sought his wonted place, 
And death washeavenly in hisfriend's embrace. 

Celestial pair ! if augnt my verse can claim, 
Wafted on Time's broad pinion, yours is fame: 
Ages on ages shall your fate admire, 
No future day shall see your names expire, 
"\^'hile stands the Capitol, immorial dome ! 
And vanquish 'd miiUons hail their empress 
Rome . 



TRANSLATION FROM THE MEDEi 
OF EURIPIDES. 

CE^uTti vn-t^ fitv ayav, «.t.X.J 

When fierce conflicting pa'ssions urge 
The breast where love is wont to glow 

"WHiat mind can stem the stonny stirge 
Which rolls the tide of human woe ? 



HOURS OF IDLENESS. 



153 



The hope of praise, the dread of shame, 
Can rouse the tortured breast no more; 

Thj wild desire, the guilty flame, 
Absorbs each wish it I'elt before. 

But if affection gently thrills 

The soul by purer dreams possest. 
The pleasing balm of mortal ills 

In love can soothe the aching breast • 
If thus thou coraest in disguise, 

Fair Venus ' from thy native heaven, 
Wliat heart unfeeling would despise 

The sweetest boon the gods have given ? 

But never from thy golden bow 

May I beneath the shaft expire ! 
Whose creeping venom, sure and slow, 

Awakes an all-consuming hre : 
Ye racking doubts ! ye jealous feai's I 

With others wage internal war ; 
Repentance, source of future tears. 

From me be ever distant far I 

May no distracting thoughts destroy 

The holy calm of sacred love ! 
May all the houi-s be wing'd with joy, 

V^Tiich hover faithful hearts above ! 
Fair Venus ! on thy myrtle shrine 

May I with some fond lover sigh, 
WTiose heart may mingle pure with mine— 

With me to live, with me to die. 

My native soil ! beloved before. 

Now dearer as my peaceful home, 
Ne'er may I quit thy rocky shore, 

A hapless banish'd wi-etch to roam ! 
This very day, this very hour. 

May I resign this fleeting breath ! 
Nor quit my silent humble bower ; 

A doom to me far worse than death. 

Have I not heard the exile's sigh ? 

And seen the exile's silent tear. 
Through distant climes condemn'd to fly, 

A pensive weary wanderer here? 
Al. napless dame^a ! no sire bewails. 

No friend thy wretched fate deplores. 
No kindred voice with rapture hails 

Thy steps within a stranger s doors. 

Perish the fiend whose iron heart, 

To fair affection's truth unknown, 
Bids her he fondly loved depart, 

Unpitied, helpless, and alone ; 
Who ne'er unlocks with silver key^a 

The milder treasures of his soul,— 
May such a friend be far from me. 

And ocean's storms between us roll' 



THOUGHTS SUGGESTED BY A COL 
LEGE EXAMINATION. 

High in the midst, surrounded bv liis peers, 
Magnus^-* his ample front sublin^e uprears : 
Placed on his chair of state, he seems a god. 
While Sophs and Freshmen tremble at his nod 
As all around sit wrapt in speechless gloom, 
His voice in thunder shakes the soundingdom« 
Denouncing dire reproach to luckless ibols, 
Unskill'd to plod in raathematic rules. 

Happy the youth in Euclid's axioms ti-ie<^ 
Though little versed in :uiy art beside; 
Who, scarcely skill'd an English line to pen. 
Scans Attic metres with a critic's ken. 
What,though he knows not how his fathers bled, 
When civil discord piled the fields with dead. 
When Edward bade his conquering bands ad- 
vance. 
Or Henry trampled on the cre^t of France : 
Though marvelling at the name of Magna 

Chai-ta, 
Yet well he recollects the law of Sparta; 
Can tell what edicts sage Lycurgus made, 
While Blackstone 's on the shelf neglected laid, 
Of Grecian chamas vaunts the deathless fame 
Of Avon's bard remembering scarce the nanie 

Such is the youth whose scientific pate 
Class-honours, medals, fellowships, await; 
Or even, perhaps, the declamation prize, 
If to such glorious height he- lifts his eyes. 
But lo 1 no common orator can hope 
The envied silver cup within his scope. 
Not that our heads much eloquence require, 
Th' ATHENiAN's55glo\ving style, or Tully's fire 
A manner clear or warm is useless, since 
We do not try by speaking to convince. 
Be other orators of pleasing proud: 
We speak to please ourselves, not move the 

crowd : 
Our gravity prefers the muttering tone, 
A proper mixt'ire of the squeak and groan. 
No borrow'd gi-ace of action must be seen. 
The slightest motion would displease th« 

Dean ;55 
Whilst every staring graduate would prate 
Against what he could never imitate 

The man who hopes t' obtain the promiserlcup 
Must in one posture stand, and ne'er look up; 
Nor stop, but rattle over every word — 
No matter what, so it can not be heaid. 
Thus let him hurry on, nor think to rest : 
Who speaks the fastest 's sure to spea\ Oie bestf 



154 



HOURS OF IDLENESS. 



Who utters most within the shortest space 
May safely hope to wia the wordy race. 

The sons of science these, who, thus repaid, 
Lmger in ease in Granta's sluggish shade ; 
Where on Cam's sedgy bank supine they lie 
Unknown, unhonour'd live, unwept for die : 
Dull as the pictures which adorn their halls, 
They think all leaiuiing fix'd within their walls: 
In manners rude, in foolish forms precise, 
All modem arts atfecting to despise; 
Yet prizing Beutley's, Bruuck's, or Person's 

note, 
More than the verse on which the critic wrote : 
Vain as their honours, heavy as their ale, 
Sad as their wit, and tedious as their tale ; 
To friendship dead, though not untaught to 

feel 
When Self and Church demand a bigot zeal. 
With eager haste they court the lord of power, 
Whether 'tis Pitt or Petty rules the hour ; 
To him, with suppliant smiles, they be nd the 

head. 
While distant mitres to their eyes are spread. 
But should a storm o'erwhelmhim with disgrace, 
They'd fly to seek the nfext \\ho fill'd his place. 
Such are the men who learning's treasures 

guard ! 
Such is their practice, such is their reward ! 
This much, at least we nuiy presume to say — 
The premium can't exceed the price they pay. 

'18O6. 



TO A BEAUTIFUL QUAKER. 

Sweet girl ! though only once we met. 
That meeting I shall ne'er forget ; 
And though we ne'er may meet again. 
Remembrance will thy form retain. 
I would np* day, " I love," but still 
My senses struggle with my will : 
In vain, to drive thee from my breast, 
My thoughts are more and more represtj 
In vain I check the rising sighs, 
Another to the last replies : 
Perhaps this is not love, but yet 
Our meeting I can ne'er forget. 

What though we never silence broke. 
Our eyes a sweeter language spoke ; 
The tongue in flattering falsehood deals, 
And tells a tale it ne\er feels: 
Deceit the guilty lips impart ; 
And hush the mandates of the heart; 



But soul's interpreters, the eyes, 
Spurn such restraint, and scorn di: guise. 
As thui our glances oft conversed, 
And all our bosoms felt rehearsed. 
No spirit, from within, reproved us. 
Say rather, "'twas the spirit moved us.' 
Though what they utter'd I repress, 
Yet I conceive thou 'It parti}' guess; 
For as on thee my memory ponciers. 
Perchance to me thine also wanders. - 
This for myself, at least, I 11 say. 
Thy foi-m appears through night, througl 

day : 
Awake, with it my fancy teems ; 
In sleep, it smiles in fleeting dreams: ' 
The vision chaniis the hours away. 
And bids me curse Aurora's ray. 
For breaking slumbers of delight. 
Which make me wish for endless night 
Since, oh I whate'er my future fate. 
Shall joy or woe my steps await. 
Tempted by love, by stonns beset, 
Thine image I can ne'er foiget. 

Alas ! again no more we meet, 
No more our former looks repeat; 
Then let me breathe this parting prayer. 
The dictate of my bosom's care : 
" May Heaven so guard my lovely quakei 
That anguish never can o'ertake her; 
That peace and virtue ne'er forsake her. 
But bliss be aye her heart's partaker ' 
Oh ! may thp happy morta' faied 
To be, by dearest ties, related. 
For her each hour new joys discover, 
And lose the husband in the lover I 
May that fair bosom never know 
What 't is to feel the restless woe, 
Which stings the soul with vain regret. 
Of him who never can forget ! " 



THE CORNELIAN.^ 

N' specious splendour of this stone 
Endears it to my memory ever ; 

W ith lustre only once it shone. 
And blushes modest as the giver. 

Some, who can sneer at friendship's ties, 
Have, for my weakness, uftrepiovcd m 

Yet still the simple gift I prize, — 
For I am sure th</ giver loved ma 



HOUKS OF IDLENESS. 



155 



He offer'd it with downcast look, 
As fearful that I iii.slit refuse it ; 

T told him when t?ie git't I took, 
My only feai snould be to lose it. 

This pledge attentively I view'd, 
And sparkling as I held it near, 

Meihonglit one drop the stone bedew'd, 
And ever since I 've loved a tear. 

Still, to adorn his humble youth. 

Nor wealth, nor birth their treasures yield ; 

But he who seeks the flowers of truth. 
Must quit the gai-den for the field. 

T is not the plant uprear'd in sloih. 

Which beauty shows, and sheds pc'-''ume ; 

The flowers which yield the most of ooth 
In Nature's wild luxuriance bloom. 

Had Fortune aided Nature's care, 
For once forgetting to be blind, 

His would have been an ample sharc^ 
If well proportion'd to his mind. 

But had the goddess clearly seen, 
His form had lixed her fickle breast ; 

K^r countless hoards would his have been. 
And none remain'd to give thee rest. 



AN OCCASIONAI. PROLOGUE, 

DELIVERED VRRVIOL'S TOTHK PF.RFORMANCE 

OF "the whkel of fortunk" at a pri- 
vate TUEATRE."'^' 

ii-fCE the refinement of this polish'd age 
Has swept inunoral raillery from the stage ; 
Since taste has now expunged licentious wit, 
Which stanip'd disgrace on all an author writ; 
Since now to please with purer scenes we seek, 
Nor dare to call the blush from Beauty's c-heek ; 
OL let the modest Muse some pity claim, 
And meet indulgence, though she find not fame. 
Siill, not for her alone we wish respect, 
Others appear more conscious of defect: 
To-night no veteran Roscii you behold, 
.n al. the arts of scenic action old ; 
No Cooke, no Kemble, can salute you here, 
No Siddons draw the sym]);ilhetic tear; 
To-night you throng to witness the debut 
Of e:nbryo actors, tu the Drama new : 
Here, then, our almost unfledged wings we try; 
?lip not our pinions ere the birds can fly • 



Fai.ing in this our first attempt to soar, 
Drooping, alas ! we fall to rise no more. 
Not one poor trembler only fear betrays, 
Who hopes, yet almost dreads, to meet youl 

praise ; 
But ail our dramatis personae wait 
In fond suspense this cnsis of their fate. 
No venal views our progress can retard. 
Your generous plaudits are our sole reward 
For these, each Hero all his power displays, 
Each timid Heroine shrinks before your gaze 
Srn-ely the last will some protection find ; 
None to the softer sex can prove unkind : 
While Youth and Beauty form the female shield, 
The sternest censor to the fair must yield. 
Yet, should our feeble etibits nought avail, 
Should, after all, our best endeavom's fail, 
Still let some mercy in your bosoms live, 
And, if you can't applaud, at least forgive. 



ON THE DEATH OF MR. FOX, 

THE FOLLOWING ILLIBERAL IMPROMPTO 
APPEARED IN A MOEMNG PAPER. 

" Our nation's foes lament on Fox's death. 
But bless the hour when Pitt resign'd his breath 
These feelings wide, let sense and truth imclue, 
We give the palm where Justice points its due.' 

to which the AUTHOR OF THESE PIECF.a 
SENT THE FOLLOWING REPLY. 

Oh factious viper! whose envenom'd tooth 
Woidd mangle still the deatl, perverting truth ; 
Whiit though our "nation's foes" lament the fate, 
With generous feeling, of the good and great. 
Shall dastard tongues essay to blast the name 
Of him whose meed exists in endless fame ? 
When Pitt expired in plenitude of power. 
Though ill success obscured his dying hour. 
Pity her dewy wings before him spread. 
For noble spirits " war not with the dead : 
His friends, in tears, a last sad requiem gavQ 
As all his eiTors slumber'd in the grave; 
He sunk, an Atlas bending 'neath the weight 
Of cares o'erwhelraing our conflicting state : 
When, lo ! a Hercules in Fox appear'd. 
Who for a time the ruin'd fabric rear'd : 
He, too, is fall'n, who Britain's loss supplied, 
With him our fast-reviving hopes Li.ve died ; 
Not one great people only raise his urn, 
All Euiope's far-extended regions motim. 



15 G 



HOURS OF IDLENESS. 



* These feelings wide, lei sense and truth un- 
due, 
1 o give the palm where Justice points its due ;"* 
Vet let not cankei'd Calumny assail, 
Or round our statesman wind ber gloomy veil 
Fox ! o'er whose corse a momning world 

must weep, 
Whose dear remains in honour'd marble sleep ; 
For whom, at last, e'en hostile nations groan. 
While Irieuds and Iocs alike his taleuts own; 
Fox shall in Britain's future annals shine, 
Nor e'en to Pitt the patriot's palm resigii ; 
Which Envy, wearing Candour's sacred mask, 
For Pitt, and Pixx alone, has dared to ask-^s 



THE TEAR. 

♦ O lachrymarum fons, tenero sacro* 
Duceatium ortus ex auimo ; quater 
Felix ! ill irao qui scateatem 

Pectore te, pia Nympha, seasit." — Gray, 

When Friendship or Love our feympathies 
move, 

When Truth in a glance should appear, 
The lips may beguile with a dimple or smile, 

But the test of affection 's a Tear. 

Too oft is a smilfc but the hypocrite s wile. 

To mask detestation or fear ; 
Give me the soft sigh, wLilst the soul-telling 
eye 

Is dim'm'd for a time with a Tear. 

Mild Charity s giow, to us mortals oelow, 
Shows the soul from barbarity clear ; 

Compassion will melt where this virtue is felt. 
And its dew is diffused in a Tear. > 

Tht, man doom'd to sail with the blast of the 
gale, 
Through billows Atlantic to steer, 
8 he bends o'er the wave which may soon 

be his grave, 
Tl e green sparkles bright with a Tear. 

The soldier braves death for a fancifiU wreath 

In Glorv's romantic career ; 
But he raises the foe when in battle laid low, 

And bathes every wound with a Tear. 

If with high-boimding pride he return to his 
bride. 
Renouncing the gore-crirason'd spear, 
All his toils aie repaid when, embracing the 
maid, 
Fi-om her eyelidhc kisses the Tear. 



Sweet scene of my youth^^ 1 s j at of Friendshi| 

and Truth. 

Where love chased each fas.,i»eeting year, 

Loth to leave thee, I mourn d, for a last iool 

I turned. [Tear. 

But thy spire was scarce seen tLrough t 

Though my vows I can poitr to my Mary uc 
more, 

My Maiy to Love once so dear ; 
In the shade of her bower I remember the hour 

She rewarded those vows with a Tear. 

By another possest, may she live ever blest ! 

Her name still my heart must revere : 
With a sigh I resign what I once though€ 
was mine. 

And forgive her deceit with a Tear. 

Ye friends of my heart, ere from you I depart 
This hope to my breast is most near : 

If again we shall meet in this rural retreat, 
May we meet, as we part, with a Tear. 

When my soui wings her flight to the regioM 
of night, 
And my corse shall recline on its b'er. 
As ye pass by the tomb where my ashes con- 
sume. 
Oh ! moisten their dust with a Tear. 

May no mai-ole bestow the splendour of woe. 
Which the children of vanity rear ; 

No fiction of fame shall blazon my name ; 
All I ask — all I wish— is a Tear, 

October 26th, 1806 



REPLY TO SOME VERSES OF J. M 

B. PIGOT, ESQ., ON THE CRUELTY 

OF HIS MISTRESS. 

WHY,Pigot, complain of this damsel's c'isdain. 
Why thus in despair do you fret ? 

For months you may try, yet, believe me, « 
sigh 
Will never obtain a coquette. 

Would you teach her to love? for a tira« 
seem to rove ; 

At first she may frown in a pet ; 
But leave her awhile, she shortly will smile 

And then you may kiss your coquette. 



HOURS (;F IDLeiJJ<;SS. 



157 



■ZiMix yj V^j 



For such are the a.rs of these fanciful fairs, 
They think all rtur homage a debt 

Vet a partial neglect soon takes an effect, 
And humbles the proudest coquette. 

I^issemble yoi\r pain, and lengthen your chain, 
And seem J^er hauteur to regret; 

If again you shall sigh, she no more will deny 
That yours is the rosy coquette. 

If still, from f^'Jse pride, yours pangs she deride, 

This whimsical virgin forget ; 
Some other admire, who will melt with your 
fire, 

And laugh at the little coquette. 

For me, I adore some twenty or more, 
And love them most dearly ; but yet. 

Though my heart they enthi-al, 1 'd abandon 
them all, 
Did they act like youi' blooming coquette. 

No longer repine, adopt this design, 
And break through her slight-woven net ; 

Away with despair, no longer Ibrbear 
To fly from the captious coquette. 

Then quit her, my fi'iend I your bosom defend, 

Ere quite with her snares you 're beset : 
Lest your deep wounded heart, when incensed 
by the smart, 
Should lead you to curse the coquette. 

October 27th, I8O6. 



Since the - world you forget, when your lipi 
once have met," 
My counsel will get but abuse 

You say, when " I rove, I know nothing ot 
love;" 

'T is true, I am given to range 
If I rightly remember, I 've loved a good number, 

Yet tJiere 's pleasure, at least, in a change. 

I will not advance, by the rules of romance. 

To humour a whimsical fair ; 
Though a smile may delight, yet a frown won't 
affright, 

Gr drive me to dreadful despair 

Whue my blood is thus warm I ne er shall refoiin 
To mix in the Platonists' school; 

Of this I am sure, was my passion so pure. 
Thy misUess would think me a fool. 

And if I should shun every woman for one. 

Whose image must fill my whole breast — 
Whom I must prefer, and s'igh but for her — 

What an insult 'twould be to the rest ' 

Now, Stn.'phon, good bye ; I cannot deny 
Your ])assion upjjcars most absurd ; 

Such love as you plead is pure love indeed. 
For it only consists in the word 



TO THE SIGHING STREPHON. 

loiTR pardon, my friend, if my rhymes did 
ofiend, 

Your pardon, a thousand times o'er : 
From friendship I strove your pangs to remove, 

But I swear 1 will do so no more. 

Sflice yo::r beautiful maid your flame has repaid, 

No more I your folly regi'et; 
She 'snow most divine, and I bow at the shrine 

Of this quickly refonned coquette. 

Yetstill. 1 must own, I should never have known 
From your verses, what else she deserved ; 

Your pain seem'd so great, I pitied your fate. 
As yotn fair was so devilish reserved 

Since the balm-breathing kiss of this magical 
m'ss 
Can such wonderful transports produce ; 



TO ELIZA.60 

Emza, what fools are the Mussulman sect. 
Who to woman deny the soul's future exist 

ence , [defect, 

Could they see thee, Eliza, they'd own their 
And this doctrine would meet with a genergl 

resistance. 

Had their prophet possess'd half an atom of 
sense, [driven; 

He ne'er would have women from paradise 
Instead of his houris, a flimsy pretence. 

With women alone he had peopled hisheaven. 

Yet still, to increase your calamities more, 

Not content with depriving your bodies of 

spirit, [four; — 

He allots one poor husband to share amongst 

With souls you'd dispense; but thi* last 

who could bear it? 



158 



HOURS OF IDLENESS. 



His religion to please neither parly is made; 

On husbands 'tis hard, to the wives most 

uncivil; [said, 

Slill I can't contradict, what so oft has been 

" Though women are angels, yet wedlock's 

the devil." 



LACHIN Y GAIR.61 

A WAV, yc gay landscapes, ye gardens of roses I 

In you let the minions of luxury rove ; 
Restore me the rocks, where the snow-flake 
reposes, [love : 

Though still they are sacred to freedom and 
i'et, Caledonia, beloved are thy mountains. 

Round their white summits though elements 

war; [iug fountains. 

Though cataracts foam "stead of smooth-ilow- 

I sigh for the valley of daik Loch na Garr. 

Ah! there my young footsteps in infancy 
wander'd; [plaid ;ti2 

My cap was the bonnet, my cloak was the 
On chieftains long perish'd my memory jion 
der'd, [glade. 

As daily 1 strode through the pine-cover'd 
[ sought not my home till the day's dying glory 
Gave place to the rays of the bright polar 
star; 
For fancy was cheer'd by traditional story. 
Disclosed by the natives of dark Loch na 
GaiT 

• Shades of thi dead! have I not heard yoiu- 
voices 
Rise on the night-rolling breath of the gale?" 
Surely the soul of the hero rejoices, [vale. 
And rides on the wind, o'er his o\\^l Highla»d 
Round Loch na GaiT while the stormy mist 
gathers, 
Winter presides in his cold icy car : 
Clouds there encircle the forms of my fathers; 
They dwell in the tempests of dark Loch 
na GaiT. 

'' Ill-Starr' d63, though brave, did no visions 
foreboding 
Tell you that fate had forsaken your cause ?" 
Ah! were you destined to die at Cidloden,*'-! 

Victory crown d not your fall with applause: 
Still were you happy in death's earthy slumber, 
You re:-.l with yo ir clun in the caves of 
Braemar ;*^' 



The pibroch resounds, to the piper's loui num 
her, 
Yom" deeds on the echoes of dai"k Loch wi 

Garr. 

Years have roU'd on, Loch na Garr, since, 
left j-ou, 
Yeai-s must elapse ere I tread you again; 
Nature of verdure and flow'rs has bereft you, 
Yet still are you dearer than Albion's plain. 
England! thy beauties ai-e tame and domesitic 
To one who has roved o'er the mounta nss 
afar : 
Oh for the crags that ai-e wild and majestic' 
The steep frowning gloiies ol" daik Jxich na 
G aiT. 



TO ROMANCE. 

Parent of golden dreams, Romance 

Auspicious queen of childish joys 
"Who lead'st along, in aiiy dance, 

Thy votive train of girls and boys; 
At length, in spells no longer bound, 

1 break the fetters of my youth ; 
No more I tread thy mystic round. 

But leave thy realms for those of TrutL 

And yet 'tis hard to quit the (heams 

Which hauixt the unsuspicious soul, 
Where every nymph a goddess seems, 

\^'hose eyes tlu-ough rays immortal roh ; 
While Fancy holds her boundless re^gn, 

And all assume a varied hue ; 
When virgins seem no longer vain, 

And even woman's smiles are true. 

And must we o^vn thee but a name. 

And from thy hall of clouds descend ? 
Nor lind a sylph in every dame, 

A Pyladcs'J'* in every fiiend? 
But leave at once thy realms of air 

To mingling bands of fiury elves; 
Confess that woman 's false as fair. 

And friends have feehng for — themselvei 

With shame I own I've felt thy sway 

Repentant, now thy reign is oer: 
No more thy precepts I obey. 

No more on fancied pinions soar. 
Fond fool ! to love a sparkling eye, 

And think that eye to truth was dear ; 
To trust a passing wanton's sigh, 

And melt bene, th a want«m's tear! 



HOURS OF IDLENESS. 



15S 



Romance! disgusted with deceit, 

Far from tliy motley court I fly, 
WTiere AtTectation holds her seat, 

And sickly Sensibility ; 
UTiose silly tears can never flow 

For any pangs excepting thine; 
Wlao turns aside from real woe, 

I'o steep in dev thy gaudy shrine. 

Now join with sable Sympathy, 

With cypress crown'd, array'd in weeds 
WHio heaves with thee her simple sigh, 

Whose bi"east for every bosom bleeds ; 
And call thy sylvan female choir, 

To mourn a swain for ever gone, * 
Who once could glow with equal fire. 

But bends not now before thy throne. 

Ye genial nymphs, whose ready tears, 

On all occasions swiftly flow ; 
Whose bosoms heave with fancied fears. 

With fancied flames and phrenzy glow ; 
Say, will you mourn my absent name, 

Apostate from your gentle train ? 
An infant bard at least may claim 

From you a sympathetic strain. 

\dieu, fond race! a long adieu? 

The hour of fate is hovering nigh ; 
E'en now the gulph appears in view. 

Where unlamented you must lie : 
Oblivion's blackening lake is seen, 

Convidsed by gales you cannot weather ; 
Where you, and eke your gentle queen, 

Alas! must perish altogether. 



ANSWER TO SOME ELEGANT 
VERSES 

KNT BY A FRIEND TO THE AUTHOR, COM- 
PLAINING THAT ONE OF HIS DESCRIP- 
TIONS WAS RATHER TOO WARMLY DRAWN. 

But if any old lady, knight, priest, orphysician, 
Should condemn me for printing a second 

edition ; 
If good Madam Squintum my work should 

abuse, 
May I venture to give ner a smack of my 

muse?" New Bath Guide. 

Candour compels me, Becher!'>7 to com- 
mend [friend. 
The verse which blends the censor with the 
Your strong yet just reproof extorts applause 
From mc, the heedless and imurudent cause. 



For this wild error which pervades my strain 
I sue for pardon, — must I sue in vain? », 

The wise sometimes Irom Wisdom's wayi 

depait : 
Can youth then hush the dictates of the heart? 
Precepts of prudence curb, but can't control. 
The fierce emotioni of the flowing soul. 
When Love's delirium haunts the glowing 

mind, 
Limping Decomm lingei.-, far behind : 
Vainly the dotard mends her prudish pace, 
Outstript and vanquish'd in the mental chase, 
The young, the old, have worn the chains of love 
Let those they ne'er confined my lay reprove 
Let those whose souls contemn the pleasing 

power 
Their censures on the hapless victim shower. 
Oh! how I hate the nerveless, frigid song. 
The ceaseless echo of the rhyming throng, 
Whose labour'd lines in chilling numbers flow, 
I'o paint a pang the author ne'er can know! 
The artless Helicon I boast is youth; — 
My lyre, the heart; my muse, the simple truth. 
Far be "t from me the " virgin's mind" to 

" taint:" 
Seduction's dread is here no slight restraint. 
The maid whose virgin breast is void of guile, 
Whose wnshes dimple in a modest smile. 
Whose downcast eye disdains the wanton le«r 
Firm in her virtue's strength, yet not severe — 
She wh(mi a conscious gi-ace shall thus refine 
Will ne'er be " tainted" by a strain of mine. 
But for the nymph whose jiremature desires 
Torment her bosom with unholy fires. 
No net to snare her willing heart is spread ; 
She would have fallen, though she ne'er had 

read. 
For me, I fain would please the chosen few. 
Whose souls, to feeling and to nature true, 
Will spare the childish verse, and not destroy 
The light efl'iisions of a heedless boy. 
I seek not glory from the senseless crowd ; 
Of fancied laurels I shall ne'er be proud : 
Their warmest plaudits I would scarcely prize. 
Their sneers or censures I alike despise. 

November 26, 1808. 



ELEGY ON NEWSTEAD ABBEY'.69 

" It is the voice of years that are gone! thej 
roll before me with all their deeds. — Ossian. 

Newstead! fast-falling, once - resplendem 

dome ! [pride 

R*'ligion's shiine! repentant Henfv's* 



iGO 



HOURS OF IDLENESS. 



Of wan-iors, monks, and dames the cloister'd 

tomb, 
Whose pensive shades around thy ruins glide. 

Hail to thy pile! more honour'd in thy fall 
Than modern mansions in their pillai-'d state ; 

Proudly majestic frowns thy vaulted hall, 
Scowling defiance on the blasts of fate. 

No mail-clad serfs, obedient to their lord. 
In grim array the crimson cross'l demand; 

Or gay assemble round the festive board 
Their chiefs retainers, an immortal band 

Else might inspiring Fancy's magic eye [time. 
Retrace their progress through the lapse of 

Marking each ardent youth, onlain'd to die, 
A votive pilgrim in Judea's clime. 

But not from thee, dark pile! departs the chief; 

His feudal realm in other regions lay , 
In thee the wounded conscience courts rehef, 

Retiring from the garish blaze of day. 

V'es ! in thy gloomy cells and shades profound 
The monk abjured a world he ne'er could 
view; 

Or blood-stain'd guilt repenting solace found, 
Or innocence from stem oppression flew. 

A monarch bade thee from that wild arise. 
Where Sherwood's outlaws once were wont 
to prowl ; 

And Superstition's crimes, of various dyes. 
Sought slielter inthepi-iest's protecting cowl. 

Where now the grass exhales a murky dew, 
The humid pall of life-cxtinguish'd clay, 

In sainted fame the sacred fathers grew, 
Nor rais°.d their pious voices but to pray. 

Where now the bats their wavering wings 
extend [shade, 

Soon as the gloaming'^ spreads her waning 
T/ie choir did oft their mingling vespers blend, 

Or matin orisons to ]Mary"3 paid. 

fears roll on years; to ages, ages yield ; 

Abbots to abbots, in a hue, succeed: 
Religion's charter their protecting shield 

TUl rojal sacrilege their doom decreed. 

>ne holy Henry rear'd the gothic walls, 
And bade the pious inmates rest in peace; 

Another Henry** the kind gift recalls 
And bids del otion's hallow'd echoes cease. 



Vain is each threat or supplicating prayer ; 

He drives them exiles from their blest abod^ 
To roam a dreary world in deep despair — 

No friend, no home, no refuge, but their God 

Hark how the hall, resounding to the strain, 
Shake's with the martial music's novel din ' 

The heralds of a warrior's haughty reign, 
High crested banners wave thy walls withiu. 

Of changing sentinels the distant hum, 

The mirth of feasts, the clang of bumishV 
arms, 

The braying trumpet and the hoarser dram, 
Unite in concert with increased alarms. 

An abbey once, a regal fortress'^5 now. 

Encircled by insulting rebel powers, [brow, 

War's dread machines o'erhang thy thi-eatening 
And dart destruction in sulphm-eous showers. 

Ah vain defence ! the hostile traitor's siege. 
Though oft repulsed, by guile o'ercomes 
the brave ; 

His thronging foes oppress the faithful liege, 
Rebellion's reeking standards o'er him wave 

Not unavenged the raging baron yields ; 

The blood of traitors smears the purple plain 
Unconquer'd still, his falchion there he wields 

And days of glory yet for him remain. 

Still in that hour the warrior wished to strew 
Self-gather'd laurels on a self-sought gi'ave ; 

But Charies' protecting genius hither flew. 
The monarch's friend, the monarch's hope, 
to save. 

Trembhng, she snatch'd him'76 from th' un- 
equal strife. 
In other fields the torrent to repel ; 
For nobler combats, here, reserv'd his hfe, 
To lead the band where godhke Falkland*'' 
fell. 

From thee, poor pile ! to lawless plimder given, 
While dying groans their painful requiem 
sound. 

Far diff"erent incense now ascends to heaven. 
Such victims wallow on the gory ground. 

There many a pale and ruthless robber's corse. 
Noisome and ghast, defiles thy sacred sod ; 

O'er mingling man, and horse commix'd \vilh 
horse, 
Corruption's heap, the sarage spoilers trod. 



HOURS OF IDLENESS. 



161 



ffraves. long with rank and sighing weeds 

o'crspread, [moidd • 

Ransack'a resign perforce their mortal 

. {"rom rulEan fangs escape not e'en the dead, 

K.uk';d IVom repose in seai-ch lor buried gold. 

Hush'd is the hai-p, unsti-ung the warlike lyre, 

The rrlustrcl's palsied hand reclines in 

death ; [fire, 

flo more he strikes the quivering chords with 
Or sings the glories of the martial wreath. 

At length thesatedmurderers, gorged withprey, 
Retire; the clamom' of the light is o'er; 

Silence again resumes her awful sway, 
And sable Horror guaids the massy door 

Here Desolation holds her dreary coiut: 

What satellites declare her dismal reign ' 
Sliiieking their dirge, ill-omen'd birds resort. 
To flit the'r vigils in the hoaiy fane. 

Soon a new morn's restoring beams dispel 
The clouds of anarchy from Britain's skies; 

The hcrce risu)-}>er seeks his native hell, 
And Nature triumphs as the tyrtuit dies. 

With storms she welcomeshis expiring groans; 

Whirlwinds, responsive, greet his labouring 
breath ; 
Earth shudders as hercaves receive his bones, 

Loathing'8 the offering of so dai'k a death. 

The legal ruler'9 now resumes the helm, 

He guides thi'ough gentle seas the prow of 

state; [realm, 

Hope cheers, with wonted smiles, the peacefiU 

And heals the bleeding wounds of weaiied 

hate. 



Beneath their coursers' hoofs the valleys shake 
What fears, what anxious hopes, attend ih« 
chase ! 

The dying stag seeks refuge in the Lake -80 
Exulting shouts annoimce the iinisn a rac*. 

All happy days! too happy to endm-el [knew 
Such simple sports our plain foiefathei=g 

No splendid vices glitter'd to allure; [few 
Their joys were many, as their cai-cs wert 

From these descending, sons to sires succeed; 

I'ime steals along, and Death uprears hi. 
dart ; 
A nother chief impels the foaming steed, 

Another crowd pm-sue the panting hart 

Newstead ! what saddening change of scfene 
i»-5 thine! 

Thy yawning arch betokens slow decay ! 
The last and youngest of a noble hne 

Now hoi is thy mouldering turrets in his sway. 

Deserted now, he scans thy gi-ay worn towers; 

Thy vaults, where dead of feudal ages sleep; 
Thy cloisters, pervious to the wintry showers ; 

These, these he views, and views them but 
to weep. 

Yet are his tears no emblem ofrcgi-et: 
Cherish'd affection only bids them flow. 

Pride, hope, and love forbid him to forget, 
But warm his bosom with impassion'! glow 

Yet he prefers thee to the gilded domes 
Or gewgaw grottoes of the vainly great ; 

Yet lingers 'mid thy damp and mossy tombs, 
Nor breathes a murmm- 'gainst the will of 
fate. 



The gloomy tenants, Newstead ! of thy cells, 
Howhng, resign their violated nest; 

4gain tlie master on his tenure dwells, 
Enjoy 'd, from absence, with em-aptured zest. 

Tassals, •within thy hospitable pale, 

JLo idly carousing, bless their lord's ret'im ; 
". ulture again adorns the gladdening vale, 
And matrons, once lamenting, cease to 
momn. 

A thousand songs on tuneful echo float, 
Unwonted foliage mantles o'er tlie trees ; 

And hark ! the honis proclaim a mellow note, 
The hunters' cry hangs lengthening on the 
. breeze. 

12 



Haply thy sun, emerging, yet may shine. 
Thee to in-adiate with meridian ray ; 

Hours splendid as the past may still be thino 
And bless thy futm-e as thy foiTuer day. 



CHILDISH RECOLLECTIONS. 

" I cannot but remember such things vier^, 
And were most dear to me." 

When slow Disease, with all her host of pains, 
Chills the warm tide which flows along the 

veins ; 
When Health, jiffrightcd, spreads hcT rosy wing, 
And flies with every changing gale of spring 



HOURS OF IDLENESS 



Not to tJie aching frame alone confined, 
Unyielding pa;.gs ci-jsuil the di-ooping mind: 
What giisiy lonns, llie specire-lrain of woe, 
Bidshudderinj; Nalure sliiink benealli the blow. 
With llcsignaiion wage relentless strife, 
While Hope retires appail'd, and eling>j to life, 
i'et less the pang when, thi-ough the tedious 

hour, 
llemembrance sheds around her genial power 
Calls buck the vanish'd days to rapture given, 
When love was bliss, and Beauty form'd our 

heaven ; 
Or, dear to youth, portrays each childish scene, 
Those fairy bowers, where all in turn have been. 
As when through clouds that poiu" the summer 

storm 
The orb of day unveils his distant form. 
Gilds with faint betuns the crystal dews of rain, 
And dindy twinkles o'er the watery plain ; 
Thus, while the future dark and cheerless 

gleams, [dreams, 

The sun of memory, glowing through my 
Though sunk the radiance of his former blaze, 
To scenes far distant points his paler rays ; 
Stdl rules my senses with unbounded sway, 
^he past confounding with the present day. 

Oft does my heart indulge the rising thought, 
Which still recurs, unloo/i'd lor and unsought; 
My soul to Fancy's fond suggestion yields, 
And roams romantic o'er her airy iields : 
Scenes of my youth, developed, crowd to view, 
To which I long have bade a last adieu! 
Seats of delight, inspiring youlhiul themes; 
Friends lost to me for aye, except in dreams; 
Some who in marble prematurely sleep, , 
Whose forms I now remember but to weep ; 
Some who yet urge the same scholastic course 
Of early science, futiu'c fame the source; 
Who, still contending in the studious race, 
In quick rotation fill the senior place. 
These with a thousand visions now unite, 
To dazzle, th(>ugh they jjlease, my aching sight, 
Ida ! blest spcl, where Science holds her reign, 
How joyous once I join'd thy youthful train! 
Bright in idea gleams thy lofty spire, 
Again I mingle with thy playful quire; 
Our tricks of mischief, c^eiy chili'sh game. 
Unchanged by lime or distiince,seemthe same; 
Through windingpaths alongthe glade, I trace, 
The social smile of every welcome face; 
My wonted haunts, my scenes of joy and woe. 
Each i.-arly boyish friend, or youlhiul foe. 
Our feuds dissolved, but not my friendship 

past: — 
I lilcas the former, and forgive, the last 



Hours of my youth! vji^eti, nurtured in ni) 

breast, 
T'j1ov3 a sti'anger, friendship made n.e blest;— 
Fiiondship, the dear peculiar bond of youth, 
When every artless bosom throbs with truth. 
Untaught by worldly wisdom hr-v to feign, 
And check each impulse with})rudential rein,- 
When all we feel, our honest souls disclose- 
In love to friends, in open hate to foes ; 
No varnish'd tales the lips of youth lepeat, 
No deai'-bought knowledge pui'chased Lj 

deceit. 
Hyp(jcrisy, the gift of lengthen'd years, 
Alaturcd by age, the garb of prudence weui-s. 
When now the boy is riperi'd into man. 
His careful sire chalks forth some wary plan ; 
Instructs his son fiom ciuidour's path to shrink. 
Smoothly to speak, and cautiously to think ; 
Still to assent, and never to deny — 
A patron's praise can weii reward the lie : 
And who, when Fortune's waiiiing voice is 

hciu-d, 
Would lose his opening prospects for a word? 
Although against that word his lieart rebel. 
And truth indignant all liia Losom swell. 

Away with themes like tliis! not mine the 
task 
From ilatteriiig fiends to tear the hateful mask 
Let keener bards delight in satire's stiiug; 
My fancy soars not on Detraction's wing: 
Once, and but once, she aim'd a deadly blow 
To hurl defiance on a secret foe; 
But when that foe, from feeling or from shame. 
The cause unknown, yet still to me the stune, 
Waru'd by some frient'ly hint, perchance, re- 
tired, 
With this submission all her rage expired. 
From dreaded pangs that feeble foe to save. 
She hush'dheryoung resi.'iUment, andforgave, 
Or, if my muse a pedant s portrait drew, 
I'oMFosL's' virtues are but known to few ; 
I never fear'd the young usurper's nod. 
And he who wields must sometimes feel th*" 

rod. 
If since on Gi'anta's faimigs, knowai to all 
Wbo share the converse of a college hall, 
She sometimes trilled in a lighter strain, 
'Tis past, and thus she will not sin again, 
Soon must her eai'ly song for ever cease, 
And all may rail when J shall rest in peaca. 

Here first rememberVl be the joyous band, 
Wtio hail'd me cuiei, ooedient to co-'imand; 
Who joiu'd with me in every boyish sport— 
Their first adviser, and then- last rf -rrj; 



HOURS OF IDLENESS. 



163 



Norshriml. beneatn the upstart pedant's frown, 

Or all the sable glories of his gown ; 

Who, thus u-ausplan;ed from his father's 

school — 
Unfit to govern, ignoratit of rule — 
Sujceedeii him, whom all unite to praise, 
The dear preceptor of my early days ; 
I'noBUs'^', the p;ide of science, and the boast, 
To Ida now, ala.-> I for ever lust. [page, 

With him, for years, we scarch'd the classic 
And fear'd tlie master, though we loved the 

sage : 
Retired at last, his small yet peaceful seat, 
From Icai-ning's labour is the blest retreat. 
PoMi'Osus tills his magisterial chair; 
PoMi'osus governs, — but, my muse, forbear: 
Contempt, in silence, be the pedant's lot; 
His name and precepl'i be alike forgot! 
No more his mention shall my verse degrade, — 
To him ny tribute is already paid. 

High, through those elms, with hoaiy 

branches crown'd, 
Fuir Ida's bower adorns the hmdscape roiuid; 
Thi're Science, from her I'avnm-'dseat, surveys 
The vale where rural Nature claims her praise; 
To l;er awhile resigns Jier youtliful train. 
Who .niive in joy, and dance along the plain; 
In icutter'd groups each favour'd haunt 

pursue ; 
Ri peat old pastimes, and discover new ; 
F^l•sh'd^\^thhis rays, beneath the noontidesun, 
Ii. rval bands, between the wickets run. 
Drive o'cjtho sward the ball with active force, 
Or chase willi nimble feet its rapid course. 
IJiit these with slower steps diiect their way. 
Where Brent's cool waves in limpid cun-ents 

stray ; [treat, 

VMiilfc yonder few search out some green re- 
And arbours shade them from the summer heaf 
Others again, a pert and lively crew, [view, 
Some rough and thoughtless stranger placed in 
With frolic (juaint their antic jests expose. 
And tease thf^ gi'umbling rustic as he goes ; 
Nor rest with this, but many a passing fray 
''"radaion treasures fur a fiUure day: [fought, 
" 'T washere '.he gather'd swains for vengeance 
And here we oarn'd the conquest dearly bought ; 
Here have we ded befo'-e superior might, 
And here renew'd the wild tumultuous tight." 
While thus our souls with carlypassions swell 
In lingering tones resounds the distant bell ; 
1'h' allotted hour of daily sport is o'er, 
And Learning beckons from her temple's door. 
No si)lendid tablets grace her simple hall, 
but ruder records lili the dusky wail ; 



There, deeply carved, behold; each tyro's nan« 
Secures its owner's academic fame ; 
Here mingling view the names of sire a;T.d son 
The one long graved, tlie other just begun : 
These shall survive alike when son and sire. 
Beneath one conmion stroke -of fate expire 8i 
Peiiiaps their last memorial these alone. 
Denied in death a monumental stone, 
UHiilst to the gale ia mournful cadence wava 
The sighing v.eeds that hide their nameless 

grave. 
And here my name, and many an early fiiend's. 
Along the wall in lengthen'd line extends. 
Though still our deeds amuse the } outhfidracc. 
Who tread our steps, and till our Ibrmer place. 
Who young obey'd their lords in silent awe. 
Whose nod c(jnnnanded, and whose voice was 

law ; 
And now, in turn, possess the reins of power, 
To I'ule the little tyrants of an hour; — 
Though sometimes, with the tales of ancientday, 
T'hey pass the dreary winter's eve away — 
" And thus our forme" rulers stemm'd the tide. 
And tiius thay dealt the combat side by side 
Just in tlris place the moiddering walls they 

scaled, [avaird;'*^ 

Nor l)olts nor birs against their strength 
Here Pi^oBUs came, the ri.>ing fray to quell. 
And here he falter 'd forth his last farewell ; 
And here (nie night abroad they dared to roam^ 
While bold Pomposus bravely stayed at 

home ;" — 
W^hile thus they speak, the hour must soon 

ariive, 
When names of these, like ours, alone survive. 
Yet a few years, one general wreck will whelm 
The faint remembrance of our fairy realm. 

Dear honest race ! though now we meet no 

more. 
One last long look on what we were before — 
Our tirst'kind greetings, and our last adieu- 
Drew tears fiom eyes unused to weep with you. 
Through splen "id circles, fashion's gaudy 

•world, * 

Where folly's glaring standard waves unfurTd^ 
I plunged to drown in noise my fond regi-et. 
And all I sought or hoped was to forget. 
Vain wi..lil if chance some well-remember'c 

fjce, 
Some old companion of my early I'ace, 
Advanced to claim his friend with honest joy 
My eyes, my heart, proclaim'd me still a boy ; 
The glitteiing scene, the fluttering group* 

around. 
Were quite forgotten whcnmy fiiend was fduiid 
»i2 



164 



HOURS OF IDLENESS. 



The smiles of beauty — (for, alas ! I 've known 
What 'tis to beud before Love's mighty 

throne) — [dear, 

Ihe smiles of beauty, though those smiles were 
Could hardly chaiTa me, when that friend was 

neaj- : 
My thouglits bcwilder'd in the fond sm^nse, 
The woods of Ida danced before my eyes ; 
I saw the sprightly wand'iers pour along, 
I saw andjoin'd again the joyous throng; 
Panting, again I traced her lofty gi-ove, 
And friendship's feelings triumph'd overlove.84 

Yet, why should I alone with such delight, 
Retrace the circuit of my fonner flight ? 
Is tliere no cause beyond the common claim 
Endear'd to all in childhood's very name ? 
Ah ! sure some stronger impulse vibrates here, 
Which whispers friendship will be doubly dear, 
To one who thus for kindred hearts must roam, 
And seek abroad the love denied at home. 
Those hearts, deai- Ida. have I found in thee — 
A home, a world, a paradise to me. 
Stern Death forbade my oi-phan youth to share 
The tender guidance of a father's care. 
Can rank, or e'en a guardian's name, supply 
The love which glistens in a father's eye ? 
For this can wealUi or title's soimd atone, 
Made, by a parent's early loss, my own?S5 
What brother springs a brother's love to seek? 
V^liat sister's gentle kiss has prest my cheek? 
For me how dull the vacant moments nse. 
To no fond bosom link'd by kindred ties! 
Oft in the progress of some fleeting dream 
Fraternal smiles collected round me seem; 
While still the visions to my heart are prest. 
The voice of love v ill munnur in my rest 
I hear — I wake — and in tlie sound rejoice 
I hear again, — but ah' no brothers voice 
A hei-mit, 'midst of crowds, I fain must stray 
Alone though thousand pilgrims fdl the way; 
While these a thousand kinch-ed wreaths en- 
twine, 
I cannot call one single blossom mine. 
\'^Tiat then remains? in solitude to gi'oan. 
To mix in friendship, or to sigh alone. 
Thus must I cling to some endearing hand. 
And none more dear than Ida's social band. 

Alonzo !86 best and dearest of my friends. 
Thy name ennobles him w ho thus commends : 
From this fond tribute thou canst gain nopraise; 
The praise is his who now that tribute pays. 
Oh ! in the promise of thy early youth, 
If hope anticipate the words of truth, 
Some loftier bard shall sing thy glorious name, 
To build his own upon thy deathdess fiime. 



Friend of my heart, and foremost of ihe list 
Of those watii whom I lived supremely blest 
Oft have we drain'd the font of ancient lore; 
Though drinking dcei^Iy.thirstingstill themore 
Yet, whfu confinement's lingering hour wa« 

done. 
Our sports, om- studies, and our souls were one- 
Together we impell'd the flying ball ; 
Together waited in our tutor's hall ; 
Together join'd in cricket's manly toil. 
Or shared the produce of the river's spoil ; 
Or, plunging from the green declining shore, 
Our pliant limbs the buoyant billows bore; 
In every element, unchanged, the same, 
All, all that brothers should be, but the 



Nor yet are you forgot, my jocund boy ! 
Davus?', the harbinger of childish joy; 
For ever foremost in the ranks of lun, 
The laughing herald of the haimless pun ; 
Yet with a breast of such materials made — 
Anxious to p»lease, or {leasing half afraid; 
Candid and liberal, with a heart of steel 
In clanger's path, though not untaught to fepl 
Still I remember, in the factious strife, 
The rustic's musket aim'd against ray lifer^^ 
High poised in air the massy weapon hung, 
A try of horror burst from every tongue ; 
"Whilst I, in combat w'ith another foe, 
Fought on, unconscious of th' impending blow, 
Yuur arm, brave boy, aiTested his career — 
Forwai-d you sprung, insensible to fear; 
Disarm'd and bafiled by your conquering hand 
The grovelling savage roll'd upon the sand : 
An act like this, can simple thanks repay? 
Or all the laboiu's of a grateful lay? 
Oh no ! whene'er my breast forgets the deed. 
That instant, Davus, it deserves lo bleed. 

Lvcus 189 on me tliy claims ai-e justly great 
Thy milder virtues could my muse relate. 
To thee alone, unrivall'd, would belong 
The feeble efl^brts of my lengthen'd song. 
Well canst thou boast, to lead in senates fit, 
A Spartan firmness with Athenian wit : 
Though yet in emiiryo these perfections shine 
Lycus! thy fathers fame will soon be thine. 
Where learning nurtures the superior mind, 
What may -we hope from genius thus refined: 
When time at lengthmatures thy growingyears 
How wilt thou tower above thy I'ellow p:crs 
Prudence and sense, a spirit bold and tree, 
'S'i'ith honoiu-'s soul, united beam in thee. 

Shall fair Eurvalus^'O pass by un.sung? 
Froni ancient lineage, not unworthy spruiag 



HOURS OF IDLENESS. 



1G5 



What though one sad dissension bade us part, 
That name is yet cmbalm'd within my heart ; 
Yet at the mention does that heart rebound, 
And palpitate, responsive to the sound. 
Knvy dissolved our ties, and not our will: 
We once were friends, — I '11 think we are so 

still. 
A form unmatch'd in nature s partial mculd, 
A heart untainted, we in thee behold : 
Vet not the senate's thunder thou s'halt wield. 
Nor seek for glory in the tented field ; 
To minds of ruder texture these be given — 
Thy soul shall' nearer soar its native heaven. 
Haply, in polish'd courts might be thy seat, 
IJut that thy tongue could never forge deceit: 
The coiu-tier's supple bow and sneering smile, 
The flow of compliment, the slippery wile, 
Would make that breast with mdignation bum, 
And all the glittering snares to tempt thee spurn. 
Domestic happiness will stamp thy fate ; 
Sacred to love, unclouded e'er by hate ; 
The v,-orld admire thee, and thy friends adore ; — 
Ambition's slave alone would toil for more. 

Now last, but nearest, of the social band, 
See honest, open, generous Clkon9' stand; 
With scarce one specli to cloud the pleasing 

scene, 
No vice degrades that purest soul serene. 
On the same day our studious race begun. 
On the same day our studious race was run ; 
Thus side by side we pass'd our first career, 
Thus side by side we strove for many a year ; 
At last concluded our scholastic life, 
We neither conquer'd in the classic strife : 
As speakers92 each supports an equal name, 
And crowds allow to both a partial fame • 
To soothe a youthful rival's early pride. 
Though Cleon's candour would thepalm d vide, 
i'et candour's self compels me now to own, 
Justice awards it to my friend alone 

Oh ! friends regi'etted, scenes for ever dear, 
Iiem.embrance haik you with her wannest tear ! 
Drooping, she bends o'er pensive Fancy's um. 
To trace the hours which never can return ; 
Yet with the retrospection loves to dwell, 
And soothe the soitows of her last farewell ! 
Yet greets the triumph of my boyish mind, 
As infant laurels round my head were twined, 
Whi;n Probus' praise repaid my IjtIc song,93 
Di placed ms higher in the studious throng ; 
Or when my first harangue received applause. 
His sage instruction the primeval couse, 
What gj-atitude to him niy so^il posse v'. 
Wiilehoperf dawning ho»ow« SH'-d py »: 'east ! 



For all my humble fame, to hiK_ itone 
The praise is due, who made that fame mv own 
Oh I could I soar above these feeble lays, 
These young effusions of my early days, 
To him my muse her noblest strain would give 
The song might perish, but the theme might live 
Y'et why for him the needless verse essay ? 
His honour'd name requires no vain display 
By every son of grateful Ida blest, 
It finds an echo in each youthful breast ; 
A fame be3-ond the glories of the proud, 
Or all the plaudits of the venal crowd. 

1t>\ I not yet exhausted is the theme. 
Nor closed the progress of my youthfid dream 
How many a friend deserves the gi-ateful strain 
What scenes of childhood still unsung remain ', 
Y'et let me hush this echo of the past, 
This parting song, the dearest and the last; 
And brood in secret o'er those hours of joy, 
To me a silent and a sweet employ, 
While future hope and fear unlike unknown, 
I think with pleasure on the past, alone; 
Yes, to the past alone my heart confine, 
And chase the phantom of what once was mine 

Ida I still o'er thy hills in joy preside, 
And proudly steer through time's eventlul tide. 
Still may thy blooming sons thy name revere 
Smile in thy bower, but quit thee with a tear; — 
That tear, perhaps, the fondest which will How 
O'er their last scene of happiness below. 
Tell me, ye hoary few, who glide along. 
The feeble veterans of some former throng, 
Whose friends, like autumn leaves by tempests 

whirl'd. 
Are swe])t Ibi- ever from this busy world; 
Revolve the fleeting moment* of your youth. 
While Care as yet withheld hervenom'd tooth, 
Say if remembrance days like these endears 
Beyond the rapture of succeeding years? 
Say, can ambition's fever'd dream bestow 
So sweet a balm to soothe your hours of woel 
Can treasures, hoarded for some thankless son 
Can royal smiles, or wreaths by slaughter won 
Can stars or emiine, man's maturer toys, 
(For glittering baubles are not left to boys) 
Recall one scene so much beloved to view. 
As those where Youth her garland twined lot 

you? 
Ah, no I amidst the gloomy calm of age 
You turn with faltering hand life's varied page; 
Peruse the record of your days on earth, 
Unsullied only where it mai-ks your birth ; 
Still lingering pause above each chequer'd leal 
And bl'Ji '.vdh tciu-s the sable lines of grief : 



[{}{) 



HOURS OF IDLENESS. 



Where Passion o'er the theme her mantle threw, 
Or weeping Virtue sigh'd a taint adieu ; 
But l)less the scroll which fairer words adorn, 
i'raced by the rosy finger of the morn ; 
When Friendship bow'd before the shrine of 

truth, 
4nd Love, without his pinionS-*, smiled on 

J'OUtll. 



The mouldering marble lasts its day. 
Yet falls at length an useless fane ; 

To ruin s ruthless fangs a prey, 

The wrecks of pillar'd pride remain 

"What, though the sculpture be destroy'cl, 
From dark oblivion meant to guiu-d ; 

A bright renown shall be enjoy'd 

By those whose virtues clami reward. 



ANSWER TO A BEAUTIFUL POEM, 
ENTITLED "THE COMMON LOT. "95 

MoNTGOSiERV ! truc, the common lot 
Of mortals lies in Lethe"s wave ; 

Vet some shall never be loi-goi — - 
Some shall exist beyond the grave. 

* Unknown the region of his birth," 
The heroi'O i-olls the tide of war ; 

Vet not unknown his martial worth, 
Which glares a meteor from afar. 

His joy or grief, his weal or woe. 

Perchance may 'scaj c the page of fame ; 

Yet nations now unborn will know 
The record of his deathless name. 

The patriot's and the poet's frame 
Must share the common tomb of all : 

Their glory will not sleep the same ; 
Thai will arise, though empires fall. 

The lustre of a beauty's eye 

iissumes the ghastly stare of death ; 

The fair, the brave, the good must die. 
And sink the yawning gi'ave beneath. 

Once more the speaking eye revives. 

Still beaming through the lover's strain ; 

For Petrarch's Laura still s'lrvives : 
She died, but ne'er will die again 

The rolling seasons pass away. 

And Time, untiring, waves his wing ; 

Whilst honour's laurels ne'er decay, 
Bat bloom in fresh, unfading spring. 

All, all must sleep in gi-im repose. 

Collected in the silent tomb ; 
Tl.e old and young, with friends and foes. 

Festering alike in shrouds, consume. 



Then do not say the common lot 
Of all lies deep in Leth.e'.s wave; 

Some few who ne'er will be Ibrgot 
Shcdl bui'st the bondage of the grave. 



1806 



TO A LADY 

WHO PRESEXrED THE AUTHOR WITH Tlir 
VELVET liAN'D WHICH BOUND HER TRESSES. 

This Band, which bound thy yellow hair, 
Is mine, sweet girl ! thy pledge of love; 

It claims my warmest, deai-est cai'e, 
Like relics left of saints above. 

Oh ! I will wear it next my heart ; 

'T will bind my soul in bonds to thee; 
From me again 't will ne'er depart, 

But mingle in the grave with me. 

The dew I gather from thy lip 

Is 7iot so dear to me as this ; 
That I but for a moment sip, 

And banquet on a ti-ansient bliss : 

This will recall each youthful scene. 
E'en when oiu- lives are on the wane; 

The leaves of Love will still be green 
"When Memory bids them bud again. 

Oh ! little lock of golden hue, 

In gently waving ringlet curl'd, 
B'' the dear head on which you grew, 
would not lose you for a world. 

Not though a thousand more adc.Ti 

The polish'd brow where once you shone 

Like rays which gild a cloudless mom. 
Beneath Columbia's fervid zone. 

1S06. [First published, 18?«.} 



flOURS OF IDLENESS. 



167 



REMEMBRANCE. 

T IS done I — I saw it in my dreams: 

No more with Hope the future beams; 
My days ol' happiness are few ; 

Chilfd by misforlune's wintry blast, 

My (lawn of life is overcast, 

Love, Hope, and Joy, alike adieu! — 
Would 1 could add "Kemembrance too ! 
I8O6. [First published, 1832.] 



LINES 

AUURKSSEU TO THK REV. J. T. BECHEE, ON 

HIS ADVISING THE AUTHOR TO MIX MOEB 

WITH SOCIETY. 

Dear Becher, you tell me to mix with man- 
kind ; — 
1 cannot deny suth a precept is wise ; 
But retirement accords with the tone of my 
mind: 
I will not descend to a world I despise. 

Did the senate or camp my exertions require. 
Ambition might prompt me, at once, to go 
forth ; 
^'hon infancy's years of probation expire. 
Perchance I may strive to distinguish my 
birth. 

The fire in tlic cavcm of Etna conceal'd, 
Still mantles unseen in its secret recess ; — 

At length, in a volume terrific revcal'd, 

No torrent can quench it, no bounds can 
repress.^' 

Oh! thus, thfc desire in my bosom for fame 

Bids me live but to hope for posterity's 

praise. [flame, 

Could I soar with the phoenix on pinions of 

Wilh him I would wish to expire in the 

blaze. 

For the life of a Fox, of a Chatham the death. 

What censure, what danger, what woe would 

I brave ! [bieath ! 

Their lives did not end when they yielded their 

Their glory illumines the gloom of their 

gi-ave. 

^jt why should I mingle in Fashion's full herd? 
Why crouch to her leaders, or cringe to her 
'rules? 



Why bend tollie proud, or appla:>J the absurd? 
Whv search for dedight in the friendshio ol 
' fools ? 

I have tiistcd the sweets and the bitters o; 

love ; 

In fi-iendship I early was taught to believe; 

My passion the matrons of prudence leprovf ; 

I have found that a friend may profess, j el 

deceive. 

To me what is wealth? — it may pass in an 
hour, [frown , 

If tyrants prevail, or if Fortune should 
To me what is title ? — the phantom of power- 

To me what is fashion ? — I Sf ek but renown. 

Deceit is a stranger as yet to my soul ; 

I still am unpractised to varnish the truth : 
Then v\hy should I live in a hateful control? 

Whv waste upon folly the days of mv vouth? 

I8O6. 



THE DEATH OF CALMAR AND 
ORLA. 

N IMITATION OF MACI'HEKSON's OSSIAN^S 

Dear are the days of youth! Age dwells on 
their remembrance through the mist of time. 
In the twilight he recalls the sunny hours 01 
morn. He lifts his spear with trembling 
hand. " Ngt thus feebly did I raise the steel 
before my fathers!" Past is the race ol 
heroes! But their fame rises on the harp; 
their soids ride on the wings of the wind ; 
they hear the sound through the sighs of the 
storm, and rejoice in their hall of clouds! 
Such is Calmar. The gray stone marks his 
narrow house. He looks down from eddying 
tem})ests: he rolls his form in the whirlwind, 
and hovers on the blast of the mountain. 

In Morven dwelt the chief; a beam of wa. 
to Fingal. His ste])s in the field were marked 
in blood. Lochlin's sons had fled belore his 
angry spear ; but mild was the cvc: ol Cal- 
mar; soft was ihe flow of his yellow locks 
they streamed like the meteor nf the night. 
No maid was the sigh of his soul: liis thought! 
were given to friendship, — to dark-haired 
Orla, destroyer of heroes! Equal were their 
swords in battle ; but fierce was the pride ol 
Orla: — gentle alone to Calmar. Together 
thfy dwelt in the cave of Oithona. 

From Lochlin, Swuran bounded o'er th* 



I(i8 



HOURS O^' IDLENESS. 



hlue waves. Erin's sons fell beneath his 
might. .Fingal roused his chiefs to combat. 
Their ships cover the ocean. Their hosts 
i-hroug on the green hills. They come to the 
Aid of firin, 

Nigbt rose in clouds. Darkness veils the 
armies: but tlie blazing oaks gleam through 
the valley. The sons of Loohlin slept: their 
dreams were of blood. They lift the spear in 
thought, and Fingal flies. Not so the host of 
Morven. To watch was the post of Orla. 
Calmar stood by his side. Their spears were 
in their hands. Fingal called his chiefs: they 
stood around. The king was in the midst. 
Grey were his locks, but strong was the arm 
of the king. _ Age withered not his powers. 
" Sons of Morven," said the hero, " to-mor- 
row we meet the foe. But where is Cuthul- 
lin, the shield of Erin ? He rests in the halls 
of Tura ; he knows not of our coming. Who 
«viU speed through Lochlin to the hero, and 
call the cliief to anns ? The path is by the 
swords of foes; but many are my heroes. 
They are thunderbolts of war. Speak, ye 
chiefs ! "Who will ai ise ?" 

" Sons of Trenmor! mine be the deed," 
said dark-haired Orla, " and mine alone. 
What is death to me? I love the sleep of the 
mighty, but little is the danger. The sons of 
Lochlin dream. I will seek car-borne Cuthul- 
lin. If I fall, raise the song of bards; and 
lay me by the stream of Lubar." — " And 
shall thou fall alone ?" said fair-haired ^Cal- 
mar. " Wilt thou leave thy friend afar? 
Chief of Oithona! not feeble is my arm in 
fight. Could I see thee die, and not lift the 
spear? No, Orla! ours has been the chase of 
the roebuck, and the feast of shells ; ours be 
the path of danger: ours has been the cave of 
Oithona: ours be the narrow dwelling on the 
banks of Lubar." " Calmar," said the chief 
of Oithona, " why should thy yellow locks be 
arkened in the dust of Erin? Let me fall 
akne. My father dwells in his hall of air: 
he will rejoice in his boy ; but the blue-eyed 
Mora spreads the feast for her son in Morven. 
She listens to the steps of the hunter on the 
heath, and thinks it is the tread of Calmar. 
Let him not say, ' Calmar has fallen by the 
steel of Lochlin : he died with gloomy Orla, 
the chief of the dark brow.' Why should tears 
dim the azure eye of Mora? Why should 
tier voice curse Orla, the destroyer of Calmar? 
Live, Cahnar! Live to raise my stone of 
moss ; live to revenge me in the blood of 
".uochlin. Join the song of bards above my 



grave. Sweet will be the song of death t' 
Orla, from the voice of Calmar. My ghos' 
'shall smile on the notes of praise." " Orla,' 
said the son of IMora, " could 1 raise the song 
of death to my friend ? Could I give his fame 
to the winds? No, my heart would speak iu 
sighs: faint and broken are the sounds o» 
sorrow. Orla ! our souls shall hear the song 
together. One cloud shall be ours on high 
the bards will mingle the names of Orla aiict 
Calmar." 

They quit the circle of the chiefs. The!v 
steps arc to the host of Lochlin. The dying 
blaze of oak dim twinkles through the night. 
The northern star points the path to Tura. 
Swaran, the king, rests on his lonely hill. 
Here the troops are mixed : they frown in 
sleep; their shields beneath their heads. 
Their swords gleam at distance in heaps. 
The fires are faint; their embers fail in .smoke. 
All is hush'd; but the gale sighs on the rocks 
above. Lightly wheel the heroes through the 
slumbering band. Half the journey is past, 
wlien Mathon, resting on his shield, meets 
the eye of Orla. It rolls in flame, and glis- 
tens through the shade. His spear is raised 
on high. " Why dost tliou bend thy brow^ 
cliief of Oithona?" said fair-haired Calmar 
" v.-e are in the midst of foes. Is this a time 
for delay ?" " It is a time for vengeance," 
said Oria of the gloomy brow. " Mathon ol 
Lochlin sleeps: see'st thou his spear? Its 
point is dim with the gore of my father. The 
blood of Mathon shall reck on mine; but 
shall I -slay him sleeping, son of Mora? No! 
he shall feel his wound : my fame .shall not 
soar on the blood of slumber. Eise, Mathon, 
rise ! The son of Conna calls ; thy life is 
his ; rise to combat." Mathon stai-ts from 
sleep; but did he rise alone? No: the ga- 
thering chiefs bound on the plain. " Fly ! 
Calmar, fly !" said dark-haired Orla. " Ma- 
thon is mine. I shall die in joy : but Loch- 
lin crowds around. Fly through the shade ot 
night.' Orla turns. The helm of Mathon is 
cleft; his shield falls from his arm: he shud- 
ders in his blood He rolls by the side of the 
blazing oak. Strumon sees him fall : his 
wrath rises : his weapon glitters on the head 
of Orla: but a spear pierced his ej'e. Hij 
brain gushes through the wound, and foama 
on the spear of Calmar. As roll the waves ol 
the Ocean on two mighty bai'ks of the north 
so pour the men of LocL-in on the chiefs, 
As, breaking the surge in foam, proudly steei 
the barks of the north, so rise the chiefs o. 



HOURS OF IDLENESS. 



169 



Morveu on the scattered crests of I.ochlin. 
The din of arms came to the ear of Fingal. 
He strikes his shield ; his sons throng ai'onnd ; 
the people pour along the heath. Ryno 
bounds in joy. Ossian stalks in his arms. 
Oscar shakes the spciu-. The eagle wing of 
Filliui rioats on the wind. Dreadful is the 
cianp of death! many are the widows of 
JLochlin 1 Morven prevails in its strength. 

Morn glimmers on the hills: no living foe 
IS seen ; but the sleepers are many ; grim they 
lie on Erin. The breeze of ocean lifts their 
looks ; yet they do not awake. The hawks 
scream above their prey. 

Whose yellow locks wave o'er the breast of 
a chief? Bright as the gold of the stranger, 
they mingle witli the dark hair of his friend. 
TisCalma.': he lies on 'he bosom of Orla. 
Theirs is one stream of blood. Fierce is the 
look of the gloomy Orla. He breathes not ; 
but his eye is still a flame. It glares in death 
unclorjcd. His hand is grasped in Calmar's ; 
but Calmar lives ! he lives, though low. 
' Rise," said the king, " rise, son of Mora : 
'tis mine to heal the wounds of heroes. Cal- 
mar may yet bound on the hills of Morven." 
" Never more shall Calmar chase the deer 
of Morven with Orla," said the hero. " "V^Tiat 
were the chase to me alone ? Who should 
share the spoils of battle with Calmar? Orla 
is at rest! Rough was thy soul, Orla! yet 
soft to me as tlie dew of morn. It glared on 
others in lightning : to me a silver beam of 
night. Bear my sword to blue-eyed Mora; 
let it hang in my empty hall. It is not pure 
from blood : but it could not save Orla. Lay 
me with my friend Raise the song when I 
am dark I" 

They are laid by the stream of Lubar. 
Four gray stones mark the dwelling of Orla 
and Calmar. Wlaen Swaran was bound, our 
Bails rose on the blue waves. The wnds 
gave our baiks to Morven : — the bards raised 
the song. 

" What form rises on the roar of clouds ? 
V^Tiose dark ghost gleams on the red streams 
of tempests? His voice rolls on the thunder. 
*T' is Orla, the brown chief of Oithona. He 
was unmatched in v/ar. Peace to thy soul, 
Orla! tliy fame will not perish. Nor thine, 
Calmar! Lovely wa-st thou, son of blue-eyed 
Mora ; but not harmless was thy sword. It 
hmtgs. in thy cave. The ghosts of Lochlin 
shriek aroTtnd its steel. Hear thy praise, 
Calmar ! It dwells on the voice of the mighty. 
Thy name shakes on the echoes of Morven. 



Then raise thy fair locks, son of Mora. Sprea< 
them on the arch of the rainbow ; and smili 
through the teais of the storm." 



L'AMITIE EST L'AMOUR SANS AILES 

Why shoidd my anxious breast repine, 

Because my youth is fled ? 
Days of delight may still be mine ; 

Affection is not dead. 
In tracing back the years of youth, 
One firm record, one lasting Iruth 

Celestial consolation brings ; 
Bear it, ye breezes, to the seat. 
Where first my heart responsive beat, — 

" Friendship is Love without his wings!" 

Through few, but deeply chequer'd years. 

What moments have been mine I 
Now half obscured by clouds of tears, 

Now bright in rays divine ; 
Howe'er my future doom be cast ; 
My soul, enraptured with the past, 

To one idea fondly clings ; 
Friendship ! that thought is all thine own, 
Woilh worlds of bliss, that thought alone— 

" Friendship is Love without his wings !" 

Where yonder yew-trees lightly wave 

Their branches on the gale, 
Unheeded heaves a simple grave, 

Which tells the common tale; 
Roimd this unconscious schoolboys stray. 
Till the dull knell of childish play 

From yonder studious mansion rings: 
But here whene'er my footsteps move, 
My silent tears too plainly prove, 

" Friendship is love without his wings !' 

On Love ! before thy glowing shiine 

My early vows were paid; 
My hopes, my dreams, my heart was thine 

'But these are now decay'd; 
For thine are pinions like the wind. 
No trace of thee remains behind. 

Except, alas I thy jealous stings. 
Away, away! delusive power, 
Thou shalt not haunt my coming hour; 

Unless, indeed, without thy wings. 

Seat of my youth '99 thy distant spus 

Recalls each scene of joy ; 
My bosom glows with former tuc.— 

In mind again a boy. 



170 



HOURS OF IDLENESS. 



Thy grove of elms, thy vertlani hill, 
Thy every path delights me still, 

Each flower a dotible fragrance 
:^gain, as once, in converse gay, 
Each dear associate seems to say, 
" Friendship is Love without his wings !" 

My Lycus'ioo \viierclbre dost thou weep ? 

Thy falling tears resli'ain ; 
AITcction for a time may sleep, 

But, oh, 'twill wake again. 101 
Think, think, my IVicnd, when next wemeet, 
Our long-wish'd iuicrvicw, how sweet! 

From tliis my hope of rapture springs ; 
While youthful hearts thus fondly swell, 
Absence, my friend, can only tell, 

"Friendship is Love without his wrings'." 

Ir one, and one alone deceived, 

Did I my eiTor mourn ? 
No— -from oppressive bonds relieved, 

I left *,he wretch to scorn. 
I turn'd to those my childhood knew. 
With feelings warm, with bosoms true, 

Twined with my heart's according strings: 
And till those vital chords shall l)reak, 
For none lint «.hese my brea-t s'lall wake 

Friend.ship, the power depri-.ed of wings! 

Ye few ! my soul, my life if yours, 

My memory and n.y hope ; 
Your worth a lasting love ensures, 

Unfetter'd iti its scope; 
Frc:n srccoth deceit and terror sprung, 
Witb aspect fair and honey'd tongue. 

Let Adulation wait on kings ; 
'3V''ith joy elate, by snares beset, 
A^e, we, my friends, can ne'er forget, 

" Friendship is Love without his wings !' 

?ictions and dreams inspire the bard 

"Who rolls the epic song : 
Friend.ship and Truth be my reward — 

To me no bays belong ; 
If laurell'd Fame b>U dwells with lies. 
Me the enchantress ever flies. 

Whose heart and not whose fancy sings; 
B'mple and young, 1 dare not feign ; 
Mine be the rudeyet heartfelt strain, 

" Friendship is Love without his wings 1" 
[First published, 1833.] 



THE PRAYER OF NATURE. 

Father of Light I great God of Heaven 
Hear'st thou the accents of despair? 

Can guilt like man's be e'er forgiven ? 
Can vice atone for crimes by prayer? 

Father of Light, on thee I call ! 

Thou seest my soul is dark within ; 
Thou who canst mark the sparrow's fall. 

Avert from me the death of sin. 

No shrine I seek, to sects unknown ; 

Oh point to me the path of truth 1 
Thy dread omnipotence I own ; 

Spare, yet amend, the faults of youth, 

Let bigots rear a gloomy fane, 

Let superstition hail the pile. 
Let priests, to spread their sable reign, 

With tales of mystic rights beguile. 

Shall man confine his Maker's sway 
To Gothic domes of mouldering stone? 

Thy temple is the face of day; 

E ailh,oceau,heaven,thy boundless thron* 

Shall man condemn his lace to heil, 
Unless they bend in pompous fonn ? 

Tell us that all, for one who fell. 
Must perish in the mingling storm? 

Shall each pretend to reach the skies, 
Yet doom his brother to expire. 

Whose soul a ditferent hope supplies, 
Or doctrines less severe inspire ? 

Shall these, by creeds they cant expound. 
Prepare a fancied bliss or woe? 

Shall reptiles, gi-oveling on the gi'ound, 
Their great Creator's purpose know ? 

Shall those who live for self alone, 

Whose years float on in daily crime — 

Shall they" by Faith for guilt atone, 
And live beyond the bounds of Time ? 

Father ! no prophet'? nw^s I seek, — 
Thy laws in Natuics works appear ; — 

I own myself corrupt and weak, 
Yet will I pray, for thou wilt hear ' 

Thou who canst guide the wandering star 
Through trackless realms of a;ther's space; 

W^ho calm'st the elemental wai', 

Wjiose hand from pole to pole I ti-ace .— 



HOURS OF IDLENESS. 



171 



Thou, whc in wisdom placed me here, 
Who, when thou wilt, can take me hence, 

Ah ! whilst I ireud this earthly sphere. 
Extend to me ihy wide del'ence. 

To Thee, my God, to Thee I call ! 

Whatever weal or woe betide, 
By iliy command I rise or tall, 

Ic ihy protection I confide. 

If, when this dust to dust's restored. 
My soul shall float on airy wing. 

How shail thy glorious name adored 
Inspire her I'eeble voice to sing I 

Bat, if this fleeting spirit share 
With clay the grave's eternal bed, 

While life yet tliiobs, I raise my prayer, 
Though doom'd no more to quit the dead. 

To Thee I breathe my humble strain, 

Grateful for all thy mercies past, 
And hope, my God, to thee again 
This erring li:e may fly at last. 

December 29, I8O6. 
[First published, 1830.] 



TO EDWARD NOEL LONG, ESQ.«02 
Nil ego contulerim jocundo sanus amico. — Hob. 

Df.ah Long, in this sequester'd scene, 

NMiile all around in slumber lie. 
The joyous days which ours have been 

('ome rolling fresh on Fancy's eve : 
Thus if amidst the gathering stor.v., 
Wliile clouds the darken'd noon defonn, 
\ Ai heaven assumes a varied glow, 
1 hail the sky's celestial bow. 
Which spreads the sign of future peace, 
And bids the war of tempests cease. 
Ah I though the present brings but pain, 
I think those days may come again ; 
Or if, in melancholy mood, 
•Some lurking envious fear intrude, 
To check my bosom's fondest thought, 

And interrupt the golden dream, 
I cmsh the fiend with malice fraught, 

And still indulge my wonted theme. 
Although we ne'er again can trace. 

In Granta's vale, the pedant's lore ; 
Nor through the groves of Ida chase. 

Our raptured visions as before. 



Though Youth lias flown on rosy pinion. 
And Manhood claims his stem dujuinioii— 
Age will not every hope destroy, 
But yield some hours of sober joy. 

Yes, I will hope that Time's broad wing 
W^ill shed around some dews of spring: 
But if his scythe must sweep the flowers 
WHiich bloom among the fairy bowers. 
Where smiling Voiiili delights to dwell. 
And hearts with early rapture swell ; 
If frowning Age, with cold control, 
Confines the current of the soul, 
Congeals the tear of Pity's eye. 
Or checks the sympathetic sigh. 
Or hears unmoved misfortune's gi-oan, 
And bids me I'eel for self alone ; 
Oh may my bosom never learn 

To soothe its wonted heedless flow ; 
Still, still despise the censor stem. 

But ne'er foj-get another's woe. 
Yes, as you knew me in the days 
O'er which Remembrance yet delays, 
Stih may I rove, untutor'd, wild. 
And even in age at heait a child. 

Though now on airy visions borne, 

To you my soul is still the same. 
Oft has it been my fate to momn. 

And all my fonner joys are tame. 
But, hence ! ye hom-s of sable hue ! 

Your frowns are gone, my sonows o'ei 
By every bliss my childhood knew, 

I '11 think upon your shade no more. 
Thus, when the whirlwind's rage is past, 

And caves their sullen roar enclose, 
We heed no more the wintry blast, 

"vVnen luU'd by zephyr to repose. 

Full often has my infant Muse 

Attuned to love her languid lyre ; 
But now without a theme to choose, 

The strains in stolen sighs expire. 
My youthful nymphs, alas I are flown; 

E is a wife, and C a mother, 

And Carolina sighs alone. 

And Mary 's given to another ; 
And Cora's eye, which roll'd on me, 

Can now no more my love recall : 
In truth, dear Long, 't was time to flee ; 

For Cora's eye will shine on all. 
And though the sim, with genial rays, 
His beams alike to all displays, 
Am every lady's eye 's a sun. 
These hi-st should be conlined to on*. 



L72 



HOURS -Oy IDLENESS. 



The soul's meridian don t become her, 
Whose sun displays a general summer 
Thus faint is every fonner flame, 
And passion's self is now a name. 
As when the ebbing flames arc low. 

The aid which once improved their light. 
And bade them burn with fiercer glow, 

Now quenches all their sparks in night; 
Thus has it been with passion's fires, 

As many a boy and girl remembers, 
While all the force of love expires, 

Extinguish'd with the dyhig embers. 

But now, dear Long, 'tis midnight's noon. 
And clouds obscure the watery moon. 
Whose beauties I shall not rehearse, 
Described in every stripling's verse; 
For why should I the path go o'er, 
Which eveiy bard has trod before ? 
Yet ere yon silver lamp of night 

Has tiirice perfonn'd her stated round, 
Has thrice retraced her path of light. 

And chased away the gloom protbund, 
I tmst that we, my gentle friend. 
Shall see her rolling orbit wend 
Above the dear-loved peaceful seat 
Which once contain'd our youth's retreat; 
And then with those our childhood knew, 
We '11 mingle in the festive crew ; 
While many a tale of fonner day 
Shall wing the laughing hours away ; 
And all the flow of souls shall pom' 
The sacred intellectual showxr, 
Nor cease till Luna's waning hom 
Scarce glimmers through the mist of mom. 



TO A LADY. "03 



Perhaps his peace I could destroy, 
And spoil the blisses that await him ; 

Yet let my rival smile in joy, 

For tliy dear sake I cannot hate hifll; ^ 

Ah ! since thy angei form is gone, - /^ 
My heart no more can rest with anjr; 

But what it sought in thee alone, ' ' 

Attempts, alas I to find in many. 

Then fare tliee well, deceitful maid ! 

'Twere vain and fmitless to regret thee; 
Nor Hope, nor Memory yield their aid, 

But Pride may teach me to forget tliee. 

Yet all this giddy waste of years. 

This tiresome round of palling pleasures, 

These varied loves, these matron's fears. 
These thoughtless strains to pa.<>sIon'8 
measures — 

If thou wert mine, had all been hush'd : — 
This cheek now pale from early riot, 

With passion'.s hectic ne'er had llush'd, 
But bloom'd in calm domestic (iuieu 

Yes, once the rural scene was sweet, 
For Nature seem'd to smile be ore ihcc; 

And once my breast abhorr'd deceit, — 
For then it beat but to adore thee., _-^ 

But now I seek for other joys: 

To think would drive my soul to madness 
In thoughtless throngs and empty noise, 

I conquer half my bosom's sadness. 

Yet, even in these a thought will steal, 
In spite of every vain endeavour, — 

And fiends might pity what I Icel, — 
To know that thou art lost for ever 



Oh ! had my fate been join'd with thine. 
As onoe this pledge appcar'd a token, 

These follies nad nut then been mine. 
For then my peace had not been broken. 

To thee these eariy i'aults I owe, 

To thee, the wise and old reproving : 

They know my sins, but do not know 
'T was thine to break the bonds of loving. 

For once my soul, like thine, was pure. 
And all its rising fires could smother; 

Hut now thy vows no more endure, 
Bestow'd by tl ee upon another. 



[ WOULD I WERE A CARELESS 
CHILD. 

1 wov f,D I were a careless child, 

Slill dwelling in my Highland cavet 
Or roaming through the dusky wid, 

Or bounding o'er the dark blu.« wave; 
The cumbrous pomp of Saxon lo* pi Me 

Accords not with the Ircebom scul, 
Wliich loves the mountain's craggj- side, 

And seeks the rocks where billows roll 



HOUKS OF IDLENESS. 



173 



Foitune I take back these cultured lands, 

Take back this name of splendid sound ! 
I hute the touch of servile hands, 

I hate the slaves that cringe around. 
Place me along the rocks I love, 

Which sound to Ocean's wildest roai-; 
C ask but this — again to rove 

Tlirough scenes my youth hath kno^^^l 
before. 

Few are my years, and yet I feel 
The -world was ne'er design 'd for me 

Ah ! why do dark'ning shades conceal 
Tlie hour when man must cease to be ? 

Once I beheld a splendid dream. 
A visiouaiy scene of bliss : 

Truth ! — wherefore did thy hated beam 

- Awake me to a world like this ? 

[ loved — but those I loved are gone ; 

Had friends — my early friends are fled: 
How cheerless feels tlie heart alone 

When all its foimer hopes are dead ! 
Though gay companions o'er the bowl 

Dispel awhile the sense of ill; 
Though pleasure stirs the maddening soul, 

The heai-t — the heart — is lonely stilL 

How dull ! to hear the voice of those 

Whom rank or chance, whom wealth or 
power. 
Have made, tlioiigh neither friends nor foes 

Associates of the festive hour. 
Give me again a faithful few, 

In years and feelings still the same, 
And I will fly the midnight crew, 

WTiere boist'rous joy is but a name. 

And woman, lovely woman I thou, 

My hope, my comforter, my all ! 
How cold must be my bosom now, 

WTien e'en thy smiles begin to pall ! 
Without a sigh would I resign 

This bu.sy scene of .splendid woe, 
To make that calm contentment mine, 

Which virtue knows, or seems to know. 

Fain would I fly the haunts of men — 

I seek to shun, not hate mankind ; 
My breast requires the .sullen glen, 

Whose gloom may suit a darken'd mind. 
Oh ! that to me the wings were given 

^^Tlich bear the turtle to her nest ! 
Then would 1 cleave the vault of heaven, 

To flee away, and be at rest.105 



WHEN I ROVED A YOUNG HIGH 
LANDER. 

When I roved a young Highlander o'er the 
dark heath, [snow!'** 

And climb'd thy steep summit, oh Morvcn o( 
To gaze on the torrent that thunder'd beneath. 
Or the mist of the tempest that gather d 
below,l07 
Untutor'd by science, a stranger to fear, 
And iTide as the rocks where my infancy 
grew. 
No feeling, save one, to my bosom was dear ; 
Need I say, my sweet Mary, 'twas cenler'd 
in you ? lo8 

Yet It could not be love, for I kne\r not tlic 
name, — 
What passion can dwell in the heart of a 
child ? 
But still I perceive an emotion the same 
As I felt, when a boy, on the crag-cover'd 
wild . 
One image alone on my bosom impress'd, 

I loved my bleak region.s, nor panted for new 
And few were my wants, for my wishes were 
bless'd ; 
And pure -were my thoughts, for my soul 
was with you 

I arose with the dawn ; with my dog as my 
guifle, ' [along; 

From mountain to mountain I bounded 
I breasted the billows of Dee's rushing tide. 
And heard at a distance the Highlander's 
song : 
At eve, on my heath-cover'd couch of repose. 
No dreams, save of Mary, were spre ,.i .» 
my view ; 
And warm to the skies my devviJo.is arose, 
For the first of my prayers was a blessmj? 
on you. 

I left my bleak home, and my visions are gone , 
The mo:.jtains are vanish'd, my youth is no 
more; 
As the last of my race, I must wither alone, 
And delight but in days I have witnessed 
before: [Jot- 

Ah ! splendour has raised, but embitter'd, my 
More dear were the scenes which my in 
fancy knew : 
Though my hopes may have fail'd, yet they 
are not forgot ; [you. 

Though cold is my heart, slill it lingers witto 



174 



HOURS OF IDLENESS. 



V^ hen I see some aark hill point its crest to 

the sky, [Ween ;»09 

I tl»nk of the rocks tliat o'ershadow Col- 

Wlien 1 see the soft blu9 of a love-speaking eye, 

T think of those eyes that endear'd the rude 

scene ; 

Whenh;n)lv, some light-wavinj^ locks I behold. 

That faintly resemble my Mary's in hue, 
I think on the long flowing ringlets of gold, 
The locks that xicre sacred to beauty, and 
you. 

\ et the day may arrive when the mountains 
once more [snow : 

Shall rise to my sight in their mantles of 
but while these soai- above me, unchanged as 
before, 
Will Mary be there to receive me ! — ah, no I 
Adieu, then, ve hills, where my childhood was 
bred !' 
Thou sweet flowing Pee, to thy waters adieu ! 
^fo home in the forest snail shelter my head, — 
Ah! Mary, what home could be mine but 
with you? 



TO GEORGE, EAUL DELAWARK. 

Oh ! vcs, I will own we were dear to each 

'other; [are true; 

The friendships of childhood, though fleeting, 

Tue love which you felt was the love of a 

broiliT, 

iVor less the affection I cherish'd for you. 

But Friendship can vary her gentle dominion ; 
The attachment of years in a moment ex- 
pires : ' _ [pinion, 
lA\e Love, too, she moves on a swift-waving 
But glows not, like Love, witn unquench- 
able fires. 

Pull oft have we wander'd through Lla together, 

And blest were the scenes of our youth, I 

allow : [weather ! 

I'li the spring of our life, how serene is the 
Jut winter's rude temjiests are gathering 



However, dear Gecrge, for I stiD must esteem 

you — 

The few whom I love I can never upb-nid— 

The chance which has lost mav in future re 

deem you, [made 

Repentance will cancel the vow you hav« 

I will not complain, and though chill'd is affej 

tion. 

With me no corroding resentment shall live 

My bosom is calm'd by the .simple reflection. 

That both may be wrong, and that both 

hhould forgive. 

You knew that my soul, that my heart, my 
existence, 

If danger demanded, were wholly your owTi , 
You knew meunalter'd by years or by distance, 

Devoted to love and to friendship alone. 

You knew, — but away with the vain retro- 
spection ! 
The bond of affection no longer endures ; 
Too late you may droop o'er the fond rccol- 
lection, [yours. 

And sigh for the friend who was fonuerly 

For the present, we part, — I will hope not fof 
ever; 
For time and regret will restore you at 1 ist 
To forget our dissension we both should eu 
deavour, 
I ask no atonement, but daj-s like the pas- 



TO THE EARL OF CLARE. 



" Tu semper amoris 
Sis memor, et cari couiitis ue absccclat imago.' 
V.VL Flac. 



Friend of my youth ! when >ounc wc rove4 
Like striplings, mutually beloved, 

With friendship's purest glow, 
The bliss which wing'd those r(Ksy hours 
Was such as pleasure seldom showers 

On mortals here below. 



N ) more with affection shall memor>' blending, 
The wonted delights of our childhood re- 
trace: [bending, 
Wlien pride steels the bosom, the heail is un- 
Andwhat would be justice appears a dis 
grace. ■ 



The recollection seems alone 
Dearer than all the joys 1 've known, 

When distant far from you • 
Though pain, 't is still a pleasing pain. 
To trace thosf days and hours again, 

And sigh again, adieu ! 



IlOUPtS OF IDLENESS. 



175 



My pensive memory lingers o'er 
Those scenes to be enjoy"d no more, 

Tliose scenes regretted ever : 
The measure of our youth is full, 
Life's evening dream is darlc and dull, 

And we may meet— ah ! never ! 

As when one parent spring supplies 
Two streams which from one fountain rise, 

Together join'd in vain ; 
How soon, diverging from their source, 
^Each, murmuring, scelcs another course, 
Till mingled in the main ! 

Our vital streams of weal or woe, 
Though near, alas ! distinctly flow, 

Nor mingle as before : 
Now swift or -low, now black or clear. 
Till death's uufathom'd gulf appear, 

And both shall quit the shore. 

Our souls, my friend ! which once supplied 
One wish, nor breathed a thought beside, 

Now flow in different channels ; 
Disdaining humbler rural sports, , 
'Tis yours to mix in polish'd courts, 

And shine in f ishion's annals : 

'Tis mine to waste on love my time. 
Or vent my reveries in rhyme. 

Without the aid of reason ; 
For sense and reason (critics know it) 
Have quitted every amorons poet. 

Nor left a thought to seize on. 

Poor Little 1 sw'eet, melodious bard ! 
Of late esteem'd it monstrous hard, 

That he, who sang before all, — 
He who tlie lore of love expanded, — 
By di-e reviewers should be branded, 

As void of wit and moral. ' ' " 

And yet, while Beauty's praise is thine, 
Harmonious favorite of the Nine I 

Repine not at thy lot. 
Thy soothing lays may still be read, 
When Persecution's arm is dead, 

And critics are forgot. 

Still I must yield those worthies merit. 
Who chasten, with unsparing spirit, 

Bad rhymes, and those who write them; 
And though myself may be the next. 
By critic sarcasm to be vext, 

I really will not fight them.m 



Perhaps they would do quite as well 
To break the rudely sounding shell 

Of such a young beginner ; 
He who offends at pert nineteen, 
Ere thirty may become, I ween, 

A very hardened sinner. 

Now Clare, I must return to you ; 
And, sure, apologies are due : 

Accept, then, my concession 
In truth, dear Clare, in fancy's flight 
I soar along from left to right ; 

My muse admires digression. 

I think I said 'twould be your fate 
To add one star to royal state :— 

May regal smiles attend you ! 
And should a noble monarcii reign, 
You will not seek his smiles in vain. 

If worth can recommend you. 

Yet since in danger courts abound, 
Where specious rivals glitter round, ■■ 

From snares may saints preserve you: 
And grant your love or friendship ne'er 
From any claim a kindred care, 

But those who best deserve you. 

Not for a moment may you stray 
From truth's secure, unerring way ! 

May no delights decoy ! 
O'er roses may your footsteps move,. 
Your smiles be ever smiles of love, 

Your tears be tears of joy ! 

Oh ! if you wish that happiness 

Your coming days and years may bless, 

And virtues crown your brow ; 
Be still as you were wont to be. 
Spotless as you've been known to me,— 

Be still as you are now. 

And though some trifling share of praise, 
To cheer my last declining days, 

To me were doubly dear. 
Whilst blessing your beloved iiame 
I'd waive at once upoefs fame, 

Tc prove a prophet here. 



176 



HOURS OF IDLENESS. 



LINES WRITTEN BENEATH AN ELM 

IN THE CHURCHYARD OF 

HiVRROW.Ui 

Spot of my youth! whose hoary branches 
sigh, ' fs^V ; 

:^.vept by the breeze that fans thv cloutHess 
Where now alone I muse, who oft have trod, 
Witli those I loved, thy soft aftd verdant sod ; 
With those who, scatter'd far, perchaiice de- 
plore. 
Like me, the happy scenes they knew before: 
Oh I as I trace again thy winding hill, 
Mine eyes admire, my heart adores thee still, 
Ihou drooping Elm! beneath whose boughs 

I lay. 
And frequent mused the twiUght hours away ; 
Where, a< they once were wont, my limbs 
recline, [were mine: 

But, ah! without the thoughts which then 
How dc thy branches, moauhig to the blast, 
Invite the bosom to recall the past, 
And seem to whisper, as they gently swell, 
•• Take, while thou canst., a lingering, \a&t 
fkrewell'" 



When fate shall ehUl.at length, this fever'4 

breast. 
And calm its cares and passions into rest. 
Oft have I thought, 'twould soothe my dying; 

hcur, — [power,— 

If aught may soothe when life resigns her 
To know some humbler grave, some narrow cell. 
Would hide my bosom where it loved to dwell; 
With this ibnd di'eam, methinks, 'twere sweet 

to die — 
And here it linger'd, here my heart might lit; 
Here might I sleep where all my hopes arose; 
Scene of my youth, and couch of my repose ; 
Eor ever stretch'd beneath this mantling shade, 
Press'd by the turf where once my childhood 

play'd ; 
Wrapt by the soil that veils the spot I loved, 
Mi-v'd with the earth o'er which my footsteps 

moved; [fid ear. 

Blest by the tongues that charm'd my youth- 
Mourn'd by the few my soul acknowledged 

here ; 
Deplored by those in eai-ly days allied, 
Atid unvcmember'd by the world beside 

oepteuber i,)Vi7. 



Cttslis!) BSartis anti ^tottl) lleijiebjers: 



A SATIRE. 



I had rather be a kitten, and cry mew ! 

Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers." — Shakspeabb* 

Such shameless bards we have ; and yet 'tis true, 
There are as mad, abandon'd critics too." — Pope. 



PREFACE. 

Ali, my friends, learned and unleai'ned, have 
ui-ged me not to publish this Satire witJti my 
name. If I were to be "tiu-ned from the 
career of my humour by quibbles qnick, and 
paper bullets of the brain," I should have 
complied with their counsel. But I am not 
to be terrified by abuse, or bullied by re- 
viewers, wUk or without arms. I can safely 
«ay that I have attacked none persoutLlly, who 
did not commence on the offensive. An au- 
Aor's works are public property : he who pur- 
chases may judge, and publish his opinion if 
Ue pleases ; and the authors I have endea- 
voured to commemorate may do v v me as 1 
iave done by them. I dare say they will sue 
•eed better in condemning my scribblings, 
iian in mending their own. But my object 
e not to prove that I can write well, but, if 
*ossible, to make others write better. 

As the poem has met with far more success 
Ihan I expected, I have endeavom-ed in this 
edition to make some additions and altera 
lions, to render it more worthy of public 
oerusal. 

In the first edition of this satire, published 
anotijTnously, fourteen lines on the subject of 
Bowles's Pope were written by, aiad inserted 
at the request of, an ingenious friend of mine,l 
who has now in the press a vokune of poetry. 
{u the present edition they ai-e erased, and 
some of my own substituted in their stead ; 
oiy only reason for this being that which I 
tonceive would operate with any other person 
ni the same manner, — a detennination not to 
Bublish with my nam 3 any production, wliich 

13 



was not entirely and exclusively my owb 
composition. 

With regard to the real talents of many o: 
the poetical persons whose performances are 
mentioned or cUkuled to in the following pages, 
it is presumed by the author that there can ta 
little diiference of opinion in the public a{ 
large ; though, like other sectaries, each has 
his sepcU'ate tabernacle of proselytes, by whom 
his abilites are over-rated, his faults overlooked, 
and his metrical canons received without scru- 
ple and without consideration. But the un. 
questionable possession of considerable geniuji 
by several of the ^vriters here censured renders 
their mental prostitution more to be regretted. 
Imbecility may be pitied, or, at worst, laughed 
at and forgotten ; perverted powe.'s demand 
the most decided reprehension. No one can 
wish more than the author that some known 
and able writer had undertaken their exposure; 
but Mr. Gifford has devoted himself to Mas 
singer, and, in the absence of the regulai" phy 
sician, a country practitioner may, in cases of 
absolute necessity, be allowed to prescribe his 
nostrum to prevent the extension of so de- 
plorable an epidemic, prt)vided there be nc 
quackery in his treatment of the malady. A 
caustic is here offered ; as it is to be feared 
nothing short of actual cautery can recover 
the numerous patients afflicted with the pre- 
sent prevalent and distressing rabies for rhym- 
ing. — As to the EdinburghReviewers, it would 
indeed require an Hercules to crush the Hydra, 
but if the author succeeds in merely "bruising 
one of the heads of the serpent," though his 
own hand should suffer in the encounter he 
will be amply satisfied. 



EX(>LISH BARDS AND 



CSngllsf) ^artJS, etc. 



St 1 L f. must I hear?2 — .•bhall hoarse Fitzgerald3 

Iniwl 
His creaking couplets in a tavern liall,4 
And I not sing, lest liaply, Scotch reviews 
Should dub me scribbler, and denounce my 

muse ? 
Prepare for rh ym e — I 'lip ubli ^h , ri ght or wTon g : 
Fools are mj' theme, let satire be my song. 

Oh I nature's noblest gift — my gray goose- 
quill! 
Slave of my thoughts, obedient to my will, 
Torn from thy ]mrent bird to form a pen. 
That mighty instrument of little men I 
The pen ! foredoom'd to aid the mental throes 
Of brains that labour, big with verse or prose. 
Though nymphs forsake, and critics may deride, 
The lover's solace, and the author's piide. 
What wits! what poets dost thou daily raise ! 
How frequent is thy use, how small thy praise ! 
Condemn'd at length to be forgotten quite. 
With all the pages which 'twas thine to wiite. 
But thou, at least, mine own especial pen! 
Once laid aside, but now assumed again, 
Ou.r task complete, like Hamet's^ shall be free; 
Though spurn'd by others, yet beloved by me: 
Then let us soar to-day ; no common theme, 
No eastern vision, no distemper'd dream 
Inspires — our path, though full of thorns, is 

plain; 
Smooth be the verse, and easy 1"; the strain. 

When Vice triumphant holds ht^r sov'reign 
sway, 
Obey'd by all who nought beside obey ; 
When Folly, frequent harbinger of crime, 
Bedecks her cap with bells of every clime ; 
WTien knaves and fools combined o'er all pre 

vail, 
And weigh their justice in a golden scale; 
E'en then the boldest start from public sneers 
Afraid of shame, unknown to other fears, 
More darkly sin, by satire kept in awe, 
And shrink from ridicule, though not from law. 

Such is the force of wit! but not belong 
To me the arrows of satiric song; 
The royal vices of otn- age demand 
A kee7ier weapon, and a mightier hand. 
Still there are follies, e'en for me to chase, 
And ^ield at least amusement in ihe race: 



Laugh when I laugh, I seek no c iier fame; 
The cry is up, and scribblers arc my game. 
S|.eed, Pegasus I — ye strains of great and amaU, 
Ode, epic, elegy, have at you all! 
I too can scrawl, and once upon a time 
I pour'd along the town a flood of rhyme, 
A schoolboy freak, unworthy praise or blame. 
I printed — older chiklren do the same 
''1' is pleasant, sure, to see one's name m priiil 
A book 's a book, although there s nothing in l 
Not that a title's soimding chann can save 
Or scrawl or scribbler from an equal grave: 
This Lambe must own, since his patrician nanx 
Fail'd to preserve the spurious farce from shame 
No matter, George continues still to wi-ite, 
Though now tlie name is veil'd from publia 

sight. 
Moved by the great example, I pursue 
The self-same road, but make my own review; 
Not seek great Jeffrey's, yet like him, will be 
Self-constituted judge of poesy. 

A man must serve his time to ev'ry tj-ade 
Save censure — critics all are ready made. 
'I'ake hackney'd jokes from Miller, got by rote. 
With just enough of learning to misquote; 
A mind w(!ll skill'd to find or foige a fault, 
A turn for punning, call it Attic salt; 
To JefFiey go, be silent and discreet, 
His pay is just ten sterling i)ounds per sheet 
Fear not to lie, 'twill seem a sharper hit; 
Shrink not from blasphemy, 'twill pass for wit, 
Care not for feeling — pass your proper jest» 
And stand a critic, hated yet caress'd. 

And shall we own such judgment? no- — aa 

soon 
Seek roses in December — ice in June; 
Hope constancy in wind, or corn in chafT, 
Believe a woman or an epitaph, 
Or any other thing that's false, before 
You trust in critics, who themselves are sore4 
Or yield one single thought to be misled 
By JeflVey's heart, or Lambe 's Boeotian head 
To these yoimg tyrants 6, by themselves mis- 

I)laced, 
C(jmbineft usurpers on tiie throne of taste; 
To these, when authors bend in humble awe, 
And hail their voice as truth, their word as 

law— 
Whi] e these are censors, 't would be si n to spare ; 
While such are critics, why should I forbear? 
But yet, so near all modern wojthies run, 
'T is doubtful whom to seek, or whom to shun 
Nor know we v.hen to spare, or where to stiike 
Our bards and censors lue so much alike. 



SCOTCH REVIEWERS. 



179 



Then should you ask me', why I venture o'er 
I'lie path which Pope and Girt'ord trod belbre; 
If not yet sieken'd, you can still proceed: 
Go on; my rhyme will tell you as you read. 
' B -It hold I" exclaims a friend, — " here 's some 

neglect : 
ri's — that — and t'other line seem incorrect." 
\\'}jit then ? the self-same blunder Popehas got, 
And careless Dryden— " Ay, but Pye has 

not:" — 
Indeed! — 'tis granted, faith I — but what care I? 
Better to err with Pope, than shine with Pye. 

Time was, ere yet in these degenerate days 
Ignoble themes obtain'd mistaken praise, 
When sense and wit with poesy allied. 
No fabled graces, flouri.sh'd side by side ; 
From the same fount tlieir inspiration drew, 
And rear'd by taste, bloom'd i'airer as they grew. 
Then, in this happy isle, a Pope's 8 pure strani 
Sought the rapt soul to charm, nor sought in 

vain ; 
A polish'd nation's praise aspired to claim. 
And raised the peopliii's, as the poet's fame. 
Like him great Dryden pour'd the tide of song. 
In stream less smooth, indeed, yet doubly 

strong. [iiieL— 

Then Congreve's scenes could cheer, or Ot *vay's 
For nature then an PJnglish audience felt. 
But why these names, or gi-eator stil", retrace. 
When all to feebler bards resign their place? 
Vet to such times our lingering looks are cast, 
When taste and reason with those times are past. 
Now look around, and turn each ti-ifling page. 
Survey the precious works that please the age; 
This truth at least let satire's self allow, 
No dearth of bards can becomplain'd of now. 
The loaded press beneath her labour groans, 
And printer's devils shake their v,-eary bones ; 
While Southey's epics cram the creaking 

shelves 
AndLittlc's lyrics shine m hot-pressed tv.elves. 
Thus saith the preacher- " Nought beneath 

the siin 
Is new ;" yet still from change to change we 

run : 
AHiat varied wonders tempt us as they pass ! 
The cow-pox, tractors, galvanism, and gas, 
In tuins appear, to make the vulgar stai-e. 
Till the swoln bubble bursts — and all is air! 
Nor loss new schools of Poefry arise. 
Where dull pretenders gi-apple" for the prize: 
O'er taste awhile these pseudo-bards prevail ; 
Each country book-club bows the knee to Baal, 
And, hurling lawful genius from the throne, 
Erects a shrine and idol of its own : 



Some leaden calf— but whom it matters not. 
From soaring Southey down to giovclliua 
Stott9 * 

Behold! in various throngs the scribbling 

ciew. 
For notice eager, pass in long review: 
Each spurs his jaded Pegasus apace. 
And rhjnne and blank maintain an equal race 
Sonnets on sonnets crowd, and ode on ode; 
And tales of terror jostle on the road ; 
Immeasurable measures move along ; 
For simpering Iblly loves a varied song. 
To strange mysterious dulness still the friend 
Admires the stnun she cannot compi-ehend. 
Thus Lays of Minstrels — may they be thi 

last!— 
On half-strung hai-ps whine mournful to the 

blast. 
■"Vhile mountain spirits prate to river sprites, 
That dames mayHsten to the sound at nights 
And goblin brats, of Gilpin Horner's brood. 
Pecoy young border-nobles through the 

wood , 
AtkI skip at every step. Lord knows how high, 
And frighten foolish babes, the Lord knows 

■^'hy ; 
While h'igh-boni ladies in their magic :ell. 
Forbidding knights to read who 'cannot 

spell. 
Despatch a courier to a wizard's i^rave. 
And tight with honest men to shield a knave. 

Next view in state, proud prancing on hi*. 

roan. 
The golden-crested haughiy Marmion, 
Now forging scrolls, now foremost in the figh*. 
Not quite a feUm, yet but half a knight. 
The gibbet or the field prepared to grace ; 
A mighty mixture of the gi-eat and base. 
And think'st thou, Scottl'O by vain con, ei» 

perchance. 
On public taste to foist thy stale rom.anoe. 
Though Murray with his Miller may '-ombine 
To yield thy muse just half-a-crown pei 

hne.? 
No! when me sons of song descend to trade, 
Their bays are sear, their former laurels fade. 
Let such forego the poet's sacred name, 
Whoracktheirbrainsforlucre.il not for fame 
Still for stern Mammon may they toil in vain. 
And sadly gaze on gold they cannot gain! 
Such be their meed, such still the just reward 
Of prostituted muse and hireling bard! 
For this we spurn A]>oll(/s venal son. 
And bid a long " good night to Marmion. 



iSO 



ENGLISH BARDS AND 



These are the themes that claim our plau- 
dits now ; [bow ; 
These are the bards to whom the mnse must 
While Milton, Dryden.Pope, alike forgot, 
Resign their hallow'd bays to Walter Scott. 

The time has been, when yet the muse was 

young, 
When Homer swept the lyre, and Maro sung, 
An (pic scarce ten jcenturies could claim, 
W>.ile awe-struck nations hail'd the magic 

name ; 
The work of each immortal bard appears 
The single wonder of a thousand years. 
Empires have moulder'd from the face of earth, 
Tongues have expired with those who gave 

them birth, 
Without the glory such a strain can give, 
As even in ruin bids the language live. 
Not so with us, though minor bards content, 
On one great work a life of labour spent: 
With eagle pinion soaring to the skies, 
Ifehold the ballad-monger Southey rise ! 
To him let Camoens, Milton, Tasso yield, 
Whose annual strains, like armies, take the field, 

Virst in the ranks see Joan of Arc advance, 
The scourge of England and the boast <»f 

Fiance ! 
Though burnt by wicked Bedford for a witch, 
Behold her statue placed in glory's niche ; 
Her fettt-rs burst, and just released from prison, 
A virgin phnenix from her ashes risen. 
Next see tremendous Thalaba come on,'2 
Arabia's monstrous, wild, andwond'rous sou; 
Domdaniel'-s dread destroyer, who o'ci-threw 
More mad magicians than the world e'er knew. 
Immortal hero ! all thy foes o'ercome. 
For ever reign — the rival of Tom Thumb! 
Since startled metre fled before thy face. 
Well wert thou doom'd the last of all thy race ! 
Well might triumphant genii bear thee hence, 
Illustrious conqueror of common sense I 
Now, last and greatest, Madoc spreads his sails, 
Cacique in Mexico, and prince in Wales ; 
Tells us strange tales, as other travellers do. 
More old than Mandeville's, and not so true 
Oh, Soutliey! Southey !'3 cease thy vaiied 

song ! 
A bard may chant too often and too long . 
As thou art strong in verse, in mercy, spare ! 
A fourth, alas! were more than we coidd bear. 
But if, in spite of all the world can say. 
Thou still wilt verseward plod thy weary way ; 
U siill in Bej-kley ballads most uncivil. 
Thou vn\t devote old womeii to the devil, '■* 



The babe imbom thy dread intent may rue : 
" God help thee," Southey,'* and thj 
rej^lers too. 

Next comes the dull disciple of thy schoo 
That mi'd apostate from poetic rule, 
The simple Wordsworth, framer of a lay 
As soft as evening in his favourite May, 
Who warns his friend " to shake ofi' toil an5 

trouble. 
And quilhisbooks,for fear of growing double; 
"V^''ho, both by precept and example, shows 
That prose is verse, and verse is merely prose 
Convincing all, by demonstration plain. 
Poetic soids delight in prose insane ; 
And Christmas stcries tortured into rhyme 
Contain tne essence of the true sublime. 
Thus, when ^e tells the tale of Betty Foy. 
The idiot motner of " an idiot boy;' 
A moon-strucK, silly lad, who lost his way 
And, like his bard, confounded night witli 

day .-IS 
So close on each pathetic part he dwells. 
And each adventme so sublimely tells. 
That all who view the "idiot in his glory," 
Conceive the baid the hero of the story. 

Shall gentle Coleridge pass unnoticed here. 
To turgid ode and tumid stanza dear? 
Though '.hemes of innocence amuse him best 
Vet still obscurity 's a welcome guest. 
If Inspiration should her aid refuse 
To him wno takes a pixy for a muse,!' 
Yet none in lofty numbers can surpass 
The bard who soars to elegise an ass. 
So well the subject suits his noble mind, 
Tie brays'S^ the laiu-eat of the long-ear'd kind. 

Oh! wonder-working Lewis I'^ monk, ot 
bard. 
Who fain wouldst make Parnassus a church- 
yard I 
Lo ! wreaths of yew, not laurel, bind thy brow. 
Thy muse a sprite, Apollo's .sexton thou! 
Whether on ancient tombs thou tak'st thy stand 
By gibb'ring spectres hail'd, thy kindred band> 
Or tracest chaste descriptions on thy page. 
To please the females of our modest age ; 
All hail, M. P. !-0 from whose infernal brain 
Thin sheeted phantoms glide, a gii-ly train ; 
At whose coiumand " grim women" throng 

in crowds, 
And kings of fire, of water, and of clouds. 
With " small gray men," " wild yagers,' 

and what not, 
To crown with honour thee and Walter Scott< 



SCOTCH REVIEWERS. 



181 



&g;ijn all hail! if tales tike thine may piease, 
St. Luke alone can vanquish the disease : 
Even Satan's sell" with thee might ilvead to 

dwtll, 
And in ihy skull discern a deeper hell. 

Who in soft guise, surrounded by a choir, 
Of virgins melting, not to Vesta's fire, 
With sparkling eyes, and cheek by passion 
flush'd, [hiish'd? 

Strikes his wild lyre, whilst listening dames aixs 
Tis Little! youug Catullus of his day, 
As sweet, but as immoral, in his lay ! [just, 
Grieved to condemn, the muse must still be 
Nor spare melodious advocates of lust. 
Pure is the tiame which o'er her altar burns ; 
From grosser incense with disgust she turns : 
Vet kind to youth, this expiation o'er, [more." 
She bids thee " mend thy line, and sin no 

For thee, translator of the tinsel song. 
To whom such glittering ornaments belong, 
Hibernian Strangford! with thine eyes of 

blue,2> 
And boasted locks of red or auburn hue, 
Whose phiintive strain each love-sick miss 

admires. 
And o'er hannonious fustian half expires, 
Learn, if thou canst, to yield thine authors 

sense. 
Nor vend thy sonnets on a false pretence. 
Think'st thou to gain thy verse a higher place, 
By dressing Camoens'-^ in a suit of lace ? 
Mend, Strangford! mend thy morals and thy 

taste ; 
o e wanu , but pure ; be amorous , but be chaste : 
Cease to deceive; thy pilfer'd haip restore. 
Nor teach the Lusian bard to copy Moore. 

iieho'd! — ye tarts! one moment spare the 
texi — 
riayley's last work, and worst — untilhis next; 
Whether he spin poor couplets into plays, 
Or damn the dead with purgatorial praise, 
His style in youth or age i» still the same. 
For ever feeble and for ever tame. [shine! 
Tritimphant first see " Temper's Triumphs" 
At least I 'm sure they triimiph'd over mine. 
Of " Music's Triumphs," all who read may 

swear. 
That luckless music never triumph'd there.23 

Moravians, rise! bestow some meet reward 
On dull devotion — Lol the Sabbath bard. 
Sepulchral Grahame,2» pours his notes sublime 
fn mungle'l prose, nor e'en aspires to rhyme; 



Breaks into blank the Gospel of St. Luke, 
And Iwldly pilfers f.om the Penlateuch ; 
And, undi.sturb'd by conscientious qualms. 
Perverts the Prophets, and purloins tlie Psalms 

Hail, Sympathy ! thy soft idea brings 
A thousand visions of a thousand things 
And shows, still whimpering thx-ough ti. ve 

score of years. 
The maudlin prince of mournful sonneteer?. 
And art thou not their prince, haiim)nion» 

Bowles ! 
Thou first, great oracle of tender souls ? 
Whether thou sing'st with equal ease, andgrie. 
The fall of empires, or a yellow leaf; 
Whether thy muse most lamentably tells 
What merry sounds proceed from Oxfoni 

bells,2i 
Or, still in bells delighting, finds a friend 
111 every chime that jingled from Ostend ; 
Ah! how much juster were thy mu.se's hap, 
If to thy bells thou wouldst but add a cap ! 
Delightful Bowles ! still blessing and still blest 
All love thy strain, but children hke it best. 
'T is thine, with gentle Little's moral song, 
To soothe the mania of the amorous throng! 
With thee our nursery damsels shed their tears 
Ere miss as yet completes her infant years : 
But in her teenslhy whining powers are vain 
She quits poor Bowles for Little's purer strvuii. 
Now to soft themes thou scornest to confine 
The lofty numbers of a harp like thine ; 
" Awake a louder and a loftier strain," 
Such as none heard before, or will again ! 
Where all Discoveries jumbled from the flood. 
Since first the leaky ark reposed in mud. 
By more or less, are sung in every book. 
From Captain Noah down to Captain Cook 
Nor this alone; but, pausing on the road, 
The bard sighs forth a gentle episode ;*2'' 
And gravely tells — atte^^d, each beauteous 

miss ! — 
When first Madeira trembled to a kiss. 
Bowles! in thy memory let this precept dwell 
Stick to thy sonnets, man! — at least they sell.*' 
But if some new-born whim, or larger bribe 
Prompt thy crude brain, and claim thee lor 8 
scribe ; [feaJ d. 

If chance some bard, though once by dunces 
Now, prone in dust, can only be ^e.'eretl; 
If Pope, whose fame and genius, from thefirs^ 
Have foil'd the best of critics, needs the worst 
Do thou essay : each fault, each failing scan ; 
TJ.e first of poets was, alas! but man. 
Rake from each ancient dunghill ev'ry pearl. 
Consult Lord F;uiuv, and confide in CurU :** 



182 



ENGLISH BARDS AND 



oct all the scandals of a form^^r age 
Perch (Ml thy pen, and flutter o'er thy page ; 
4ffect a candour which thou canst not feel, 
■;lothe envy in the garb of honest zeal ; 
'Vrite as if St. John's son] could still inspire, 
And do from hate what Mallet-9 did for hire. 
Oh ! hadst thou lived in that congenial time, 
Co rave with Dennis, and with Ralph to 

rhyme ;30 
Tlirong'd vrith the rest around his living head, 
Not raised thy hoof against the lion dead ; 
A meet reward had crown'd thy glorious gains. 
And link'd thee to the Dunciad for thy pains. 

Another epic I Who inflicts again 
More Ijooks of blank upon the sons of men ? 
Boeotian Cottle, rich Bristowa's boast, 
Imports old stories from the Cambrian coast, 
And sends his goods to market— all alive I 
f Jnes forty thousand, cantos twenty-five ! 
Fresh fish from Helicon^i! who '11 buy? who 11 

buy ? 
The precious bargain 's cheap — in faith, not I. 
Your turtle-feeder's verse must needs be flat, 
Though Bristol l)loat him witla the verdant fat ; 
I f Commerce fills the purse, she clogs the brain, 
And Amos Cottle strikes the lyre in vain. 
In him an author's luckless lot behold, 
Condemn'd to make the books which once he 

sold. 
Oh ! Amos Cottle ! — Phoebus ! what a name, 
fo fill the speaking trump of future fame I — 
Oh, Amos Cottle ! for a moment thick 
VVliat meagi-e profits spring from pen and ink ! 
^^^l[en thus devoted to poetic dreams, 
■Who will peruse thy prostituted reams ? 
Oq pen peiverted! paper misapplied I 
Flad Coltle32 still adom'd the counter's side, 
Bent o'er the desk, or, bom to usel'ul toils, 
Been taught to make the paper which he sons, 
Plough'd, delved, or plied the oar with lusty 

limb, 
He had net sung of Wales, nor I of him. 

As Sisyphus against the infernal steep 
Rolls the huge rock whose motions ne'er may 

sleep. 
So up thy hill, ambrosial Richmond, heaves 
Dull Mauricc3=^ all hisgraniteweigktof leaves. 
Smooth, solid monuments of mental pain ! 
The petrifactions of a plodding br<un, 
That ere they reach the top," fall lumbering 

back again. 

With broken lyre, and checl'- .cienely pale, 
jf-o ! sad Alc«us wanders down the vale ; 



Though fair they rose, and might have bif (om'd 

at last. 
His hopes have perish'd by the northern blast 
Nipp'd in the bud by Caledonian gale.s, 
His blossoms wither as the blast pre\'ails '. 
O'er his lost works let classic Sheflield weep; 
May no rude hand disturb their early sleep [^ 

Yet say! Avhyshoidd the bard at once resign 
His claim to favour- from the sacred Nine ? 
For ever startled by the mingled howl 
Of northern wolves, that still in darkness prowl; 
A coward brood, which mangle as they prey, 
By hellish instinct, all that cross their Avay ; 
Aged or young, the living or the dead, 
No mercy find — Uiese hai"pies35 must be fed. 
Why do the injured luiresisting yield 
The calm possession of their native field ? 
Why tamely thus before their laiigs retreat. 
Nor hunt the bloodhounds back to Artliur'a 
Seat?^6 

Health to immortal Jefl["rey!37 once, in name, 
England could boast a judge almost the same; 
In soul so like, so merciful, yet just. 
Some think that Satan has resign'd his tnist, 
And given the spirit to the world again, 
To sentence letters, as he sentenced men. 
With hand less mighty, but with heart as black, 
With voice as willing to decree the rack : 
Bred in the courts betimes, though all that law 
As yet hath taught him is to find a flaw ; 
Since well instnicted in the patriot school 
To rail at party, though a party tool, 
Whoknows, if chance hispatrons should restore 
Back to the sway tliey forfeited before, 
His scribbling toils some recompense may me-ji. 
And raise this Daniel to the judgment-seat ? 
Let Jefl'ries' shade indulge the pious hope, 
And greeting thus, present him with a rope 
"Heir to my virtues! man of equal mind I 
Skill'd to condemn as to traduce mankind, 
This cord receive, for thee reserved with ear- 
To wield in judgment, and at length to weax." 

Health to great Jeff'rey ! Heaven preserve 

his life 
To flourish on the fertile shores of Fife, 
And guard it sacred in its future wars, 
Since authors sometimes seek the field of M ara. 
Can none remember that eventful day. 
That ever glorious, almost fatal fray, 
When Little's leadless pistol met his eye, 
AndBow-streetmyiTuidons sic od laughing by^** 
Oh, day disastrous ! On her firm-set rock, 
Dunedin's castle felt a secret shock : 



SCOTCH REVIEWERS. 



183 



Dark roll'd tlie sjnn}>athelic waves of Forth, 
Low groauM the startled whirlwinds ol'the uorlh; 
Tweed ruiiled half his waves to form a tear, 
1 he other half pursued its calm career ;39 
Aithm-'s steep summit nodded lo its base, 
The surly Tolbooth scarcely kept her place ; 
The Tolbooth felt — formaible sometimes cau. 
On such oecasioas, feel as much as man — 
The TolboolQ felt defrauded of her charms, 
.f Jottrey died, except within her arms; 
Nay, last, not least, o;i that portentous morn, 
I'he sixteenth story where himself was born. 
His patrimonial garret, fell to ground. 
And pale Edina shudder'd at the sound: 
iii'ew'd were the sU'eets around with milk-white 

reams, 
Flow'd all tlie Canongate with Ink^-^ streams; 
This of his candour seem'd the sable dew. 
That of his valour show'd the bloodless hue ; 
A.nd all with justice deem'd the two combined 
The mingled emblems of his mighty mind. 
But Caledonia's goddess hover'd o'er 
fhe field, and saved him from the wrath of 

Sloore ; 
From either pistol snaxh'd the vengeful lead. 
And straight restored it to her favorite's head; 
Chat head, with greater than magnetic pow'r. 
Caught it, as Danae caught the golden show'r, 
Ami, though the thickening dross will scarce 

refine. 
Augments its ore, and is itself a mine. 
' My son," she cried, " ne'er thii-st for gor- 

again. 
Resign the pistol, and resume the pen ; 
O'er politics and poesy preside. 
Boast of thy country, and Britannia's guide! 
For long as Albion's heedless sons submit, 
Or Scottish taste decides on English wit. 
So long shall last thine unmolested reign, 
Nor any dare to take thy name in vain. 
IJL'hoid, a chosen band shall aid thy plan. 
And own thee chieftain of the critic clan. 
First in the oat-fed phalanx shall be seen 
The travell'd thane, Athenian Aberdeen.40 
Herbert shall wield Thor's hanuner*', and 

sometimes. 
In gratitude, thou 'It praise his rugged rhjTne.s, 
Smug Sydney-^- too thy bitter page shall seek, 
And classic Hallam-*^, much renow'd for Greek ; 
Scott may perchance his name and influence 

lend. 
And paltiy Pillans-** shall traduce liis friend ; 
While gay Thalia's luckless votary, Lambe •'^ 
Damn'd like the devil, devil-like will damn. 
Known be tliy name, unbounded be thy ssvay I 
Thy Holland's banquets shall each toil repay ; 



While grateful Britain yields the praise she owt» 
To Holland's hn-elings and to learning's foes. 
Yet mark one caution ere thy next Review 
Spread its light wings of saffron and of blue. 
Beware lest blundering Brougham desti-oy tiic 

sale,<6 
Turn beef to bannocks, cauliflowers to kail," 
Thus having said, the kilted goddess kist 
Her son, and vanish 'd in a Scottish mist. 

Then prosper Jeffrey ! pertest of the train 
Whom Scotland pampers with her fiery graiu ! 
Whatever blessing waits a genuine Scot, 
In double portion swells thy glorious lot; 
For thee Edina culls her evening sweets. 
And showers their odours on thy candid sheets. 
Whose hue and fragrance to thy work adhere — 
This scents its pages, and that gilds its rear. *' 
Lo ! blushing Itch, coy nymph, enamour 4 

gi'own. 
Forsakes the rest, and cleaves to thee alone 
And, too unjust to other Pictish men, 
Enjo\^s thy person, and inspires thy pen I 
Illustrious Holland 1 hard would be his lot. 
His hirelings mention'd, and himself forgot' 
Holland, with Henry Petty^** at his back. 
The ^yhipper-in and huntsman of the paclt. 
Blest be the banquets spread at Holland House, 
'Where Scotchmen feedj^nd critics may carouse I 
Long, long beneath that hospitable roof 
Shall Grub-street dine, while duns are kept aloof 
See honest Hallam lay aside his fork, 
Kesume his pen, review his Lordship's work, 
And, grateful for the dainties on his plate. 
Declare his landlord can at least translate \-*9 
Dunedin ! view thy children with delight. 
They write for food — and feed bec<uise they 

write : 
And lest, when heated with the unusual gi-ape 
Some glowing tlioughts should to the press 

escape, 
And tinge with red the female readers cheek, 
My lady skims the cream of each critique ; 
Breathes o'er the page her purity of soul. 
Reforms each error, and refines the whole.'SO 

Now to the Drama turn — Oh ! motley sighi! 
What precious scenes the wondering eyes invite! 
Puns, and a prince within a ban-el pent,51 
And Dibdin's nonsense yield complete content 
Though now, thank Heaven I the Ilosciomania 'a 

o'er, 
A nd fuil-grown actors are endured once more 
'Vet what pvail their vain attemf ts to please. 
While British critics suffer srene« like these- 



184 



ENGLISH BARDS AND 



WTiile Reynolds vents his •' dammes ! " "poohs !*' 
and " zounds ! "52 [louuds ? 

nd common-place and common sense con- 
bile Kenney's "World" — ah! where is 
Kenuey s^-J wit ? — 
Tires the sad gai''ery, lulk; the listless pit; 
And Beaumont's piU'tr'd Curaiach atiords 

tragedy complete in all but words P^-* 
Who but must mourn, while these ai'e all the 

rage, 
The degi-adation of our vaunted stage ! 
Heavens I is all sense ol' shame and talentgone? 
Have we no living bard ol' meriil'' — none 1 
Awake, George Coiman'^^ ! (Jumberland^G^ 

awake ! 
King the alarimi bell I let folly quake I 
Oh, iiheridan! if aught can move thy pen, 
Let Comedy assume her throne again ; 
Abjure the mummery of the Gennan schools; 
Leave new Pizarros to translaUng fools; 
Give as thy last memorial to the age, 
One classic tb-ama, and relorm the stage. 
Gods I o'er those boards shall Folly rear her head, 
Wnere Garrick trod, and Siddonslives to tread? 
On those shall Farce display Buli'uon'ry'smask, 
And Hook conceal his heroes in a cask ? 
Shall sapient managers new scenes province 
From Oherry, Skelhngton, and Mother Goose? 
'While Shakspeare, Otway, Massinger, forgot, 
On sttdls must mouldta', or in closets rot ? 
Lo ! with what pomp the daily prints proclaim 
'I'he rival candidates lor Attic lame I 
In grim array though Lewis' specu-es rise, 
.Still Skethngton and Goose divide the prize. 
And sure (/rt'«/Skefhngtonmustclaim our praise. 
For skinless coats and skeleums of plays 
Renown'd alike ; whose genius ne'er confines 
Her riight to garnish Greenwood's gay designs ; 
Nor sleeps with " Sleeping Beauties," but anon 
In five lacetious acts conies thundering on,^J 
While poor John Bull,be\vilder'd with the scene, 
Sures, wondering what the devil it can mean; 
But as some hands applaud, a venal i'ew ! 
llather than sleep, wny John applauds it too. 

Such are we now. Ah ! wherefore should 
we turn 
To what oiu fathers were, unless to mourn ? 
Degenerate Britons ! are ye dead to shame. 
Or, kind to duiness, do you lear to blanre 7 
V\'ell may tPie nobles oi our ] resent race 
Watch each distortion of a Naldi's face; 
Well may they smile on Italy's buH'oons, 
And worsliip (Jatalani's pantid(>ons,W 
Since their own drama yields no fairer U'ace 
Of wit than puns, of hiunour than grimace. 



Then let i.\us;\)nia, skill'd in every art 
To soiten mannei's, btu coiTupt the heart. 
Pour her exotic follies o'er the town. 
To sanction Vice, and hunt Decoriun down • 
Let wedded strumpets languish o'er Deshayes 
And bless thepromise which his lorm displays, 
WhileGayton boundsbefore th' enraptured looki 
Of hoary marquises and stripling dukes : 
Let high-born lechers eye the lively Presle 
U'wirl her light limbs, that spiuii the needless 

veil ; 
Let Angiolini bare her breast of snow, 
Wave the white arm, and point the pliant 

toe; 
Collini trill her love-hispu-ing song. 
Strain her fair neck, and chaim the listening 

thioiig 1 
Whet not your scythe, suppressors of our vice ' 
Refoiming saints ! too delicately nice I 
By w hose decrees, our sinful soids to save, 
No Sunday tankards foam, no barbers shave; 
And beer undra'vn, and beaids uiimosvn,displaj 
Your holy reverence for the Sabbath-day. 

Or hail at once the patron and the pile 
Oi vice and •'oily, GreviUe and Argyle \^^ 
Where yon proud pa' ace Fashion's hallow 'd 

fane, 
Spreads wide her portals for the motley train 
Behold the new Petronius^^ of the day, 
Oiu- arbiter of pleasure and of play I 
'I'here the hired emiuch the Hesperian choir, 
The melting lute, the soft lascivious lyre, 
The song from Italy, the step fi-om France, 
The midnight orgy, and the aiazy dance, 
The smile of beauty, and the dush of wine. 
For lops, fools, gamesters, knaves, and loids 

combine : 
Each to his hiunour — Comus all allows ; 
Chiimpaign, dice, music, or your neighbour's 

spouse. 
Talk not to us, ye starving sons of ti-ade ; 
Of piteous ruin, which oiu-selves have made; 
In Plenty's sunshine Fortune's minions bask, 
Is or think of poverty, except " en masque," 
When for the night some lately titled ass 
Appears the beggar w hich his grandsire was. 
1 he curtain dropp d, the gay builetta o'er, 
I'he audience take their turn upon the iioor ; 
Now round the r(x>m the circling dow'gerg 
sweep, [ leap , 

NoAv in loose waltz the thin-clad daughters 
The first in lengthen'd line majestic swim, 
The last display the free unfetter' d limb ! 
Those for Hibernia's lusty sons repair [spare, 
With ai-t the chaims which nature could n«< 



SCOTCH REVIEWERS. 



185 



riese after husbands wing their eager flight, 
Nor leave much mystery lor the nuptial night 

Oh ! blest retreats of infamy and ease, 
Wliere ail tbrgolleu but tlie power to please, 
5ach maid may give a loose to genial thought, 
.Sach swain may teach new systems, or be 

taught: [Spain, 

^''here the blithe youngster, just retum'd from 
Cuts tile light pack, or calls the ratlhng main ; 
The jovial caster s set, and seven 's the nick. 
Or — done I — a thousand on the coming trick ! 
If, mad with loss, existence 'gins to tire. 
And all your hope or wish is to expire. 
Here 's Powell's ^jistol ready for your life. 
And, kinder still, two Pagets for your wife ; 
Fit consummation of an earthly race, 
Begun in folly, ended in disgrace ; 
While none but menials o'er the bed of death. 
Wash thy red wounds, or watch thy wavering 

breath ; 
Traduced by liarS, and forgot by all, 
The mangled victim of a drunken brawl. 
To live like Clodius, and like Falkland fall. 



Truth ! rouse some genuine bard, and guide 

his hand. 
To drive this pestilence from out the land. 
E "en I — least thinking of a thoughtless throng, 
-Just skill'd to know the right and choose the 

wrong. 
Freed at that age when reason's shield is lost. 
To fight my course through passion's countless 

host, 
^^'^hora eveiy path of pleasure's flow'ry way 
Has lured in tuni, and all have led asti-ay — 
E'en I must raise my voice, e'en I must feel 
S.ich scenes, such men, destroy the public weal ; 
Although some kind, censorious friend will say, 
" What art thou better, meddling fool, than 

they ?" 
And every brother rake wnll smile to see 
That miracle, a moralist in me. 
No matter — when some bard in virtue strong, 
Crillbrd perchanj;, shall raise the chastening 

song, 
Then sleep my pea for ever ! and my voice 
Be only heard to hail him, and rejoice; 
Rejoice, and yield my feeble praise, though I 
May feel the lash that Virtue must apply. 

As for the smaller fry, who swarm in shoals 
From silly Hiifiz up to simple Bowles, 
Whyshuuldwe call them from their dark abode. 
Ill broad St Giles^ or in Tottenham-road ? 



Or (since some men of fashion nobly dare 
To scrawd in verse) from liond-sireet or tlie 

Square ? 
If things of ton their harmless lays indite, 
Most wisely doomd to shun the public siglA 
What harm? In spite of every critic elf. 
Sir T. may read his stanzas to himsell' ; 
Miles Andrews'iSstill his strength in couplets try 
And live in prologues, though his dramas die 
Loi-ds too are bards, such things at times befall, 
And 't is some praise in peers to write at all. 
Yet, did or taste or reason sway the times, 
Ah ! who would take their titles with their 

rhymes ? 
Roscommon I Sheffield '. with your spirits fled, 
No future laiu-els deck a noolc head ; 
No muse will cheer, with renovating sraiic. 
The paralytic puling of Carlisle. 
The puny schoolboy and his early lay 
Men pardon, if his follies pass away , 
But who forgives the senior's ceaseless verse 
Whose hairs grow hoary as his rhymes gro-w 

worse? 
\Miat heterogeneous honours deck the peer I 
Lord, rhymester, petit-maitre, pamphleteer ["^^ 
So dull in youth, so drivelling in his age, 
Hisscenesalonehad damn 'dour sinking stage- 
But managers for once ci'ied, " Hold, enough I" 
N or drugg'd their audience with the tragic stuff 
Yet at their judgment let his lordship laugh, 
And case his volumes in congenial calf: 
Yes ! dolF that covering, where morocco shines^ 
And hang a calf-skin on those recreant lines 

With you, ye Druids ! rich in native lead, 
Who daily scribble for your daily bread ; 
With yon I war not : G iiibrd's heavy hand 
Has crush'd, without remorse, your num^rjus 

band. 
On " all the talents " vent your venal spleen; 
Want is your plea, let pity be your screen. 
Let monodies on Fox regale your crew, 
And Melville's MantletJ^ prove a blanket tool 
One common Lethe waits each hapless bard, 
And, peace b-e with you! 'tis your best reward 
Such damning fame as Dunciads only give 
Could bid your lines beyond a morning live; 
But now at once your fleeting labours close, 
With names of greater note in blest repose. 
Far be 't from me unkimlly to upbraid 
The lovely Rosa's prose in masquerade. 
Whose strains, the faithful echoes of her mindj 
Leave wondering comprehension far behind.^' 
Though Crusca's baids no more oiu' journals 
fill, [still 

S jme stragglers skirmish roimd the colunuij 



186 



ENGLISH BARDS AND 



Last of the howling host which once wasBell's, 
Matilda snivels yet, and Haliz yells; 
And Merry's metaphcjrs appear anew, 
Chaiu'd to the signature of O. P. Q.^'^ 

When soir.e brisk youth, the tenant of a 

stail,e8 
Employs a pen less pointed than his aAvl, 
Leaves his snug shop, Ibrsakes his store of shoes, 
St. Crispin quits, and cobbles for the muse, 
Heavens! liow the vulgar stare! how crowds 

applaud I 
How ladies read, and literati laud \^^ 
If chance some wicked wag should pass his jest, 
Tis sheer ill-nature — don't the world know 

best? [rhyme. 

Genius must guide when wits admire the 
And Capel Lotit'*^ declares 'tis quite sublime. 
Hear, then, ye happw sons of needless trade! 
Swains! quit the plough, resign the useless 

spade ' 
Lo! Burns'' and Bloomfield.nay, a greater far, 
Gitford was born beneath an adverse star. 
Forsook the labours of a servile state, [fate: 
Stemm'd the rude stonn, and triuniph'd over 
Then why no more ? if Phoebus siuiled on 

you 
Bioomlield! why not onbrother Nathan too P'^l 
liim toolhe mania, not the muse, has seized; 
Not inspiration, but a mind diseased: • 

And now no boor can seek his last abode. 
No conmion be enclosed without an ode. 
Oh! 'hince increased rehnement deigns to smile 
Oa Britain's sons, and bless our genial isle. 
Let poesy go forth, pervade the whole. 
Alike the rustic, and mechanic soul ! 
Ye tuneful cobblers ! still your notes prolong. 
Compose at once a slipper and a song ; 
So .-shall the fair your handywork peru»e, 
Your sonnets sure shall please — perhaps your 

shoes. 
May Moorland weavers'' 2 boast Pindaric skill, 
And tailois' lays be longer than their bill! 
V\'hile piuictual beaux re\\ai-d the grateful 

notes. 
And pay for poems — when they pay for coats. 

To the famed throng now paid the tribute 
due, 
Neglected genius! let me turn to you. [scope; 
Come forth, oh Campbtill!'^ give thy talents 
Who dares aspire if ihou must cease to hopoi* 
And thou, melodious Rogers ! rise at last, 
Kecail ihe pleasing memory of the past : 
Arise 1 let blest remembiance still inspire, 
And stjlke to wonted tones thy hallow'd Irr^; 



Restore Apollo to his vacant throne, 
Assei-t thy country's honour and thine own. 
W^hat ! must descried Poesy still weep 
Where her last hopies with pious Cowper sleep? 
LTrdess, perchance, from his cold bier she turns 
To deck the turf that svraps her nuinstrel 
Burns'! [rious brov)d 

No ! though contempt hath mark d the spu 
The race who rhyme fronr folly, or Jbr food. 
Yet still some genuine sons 'tisher'sto boos! 
Who, least ati'ecliiig, still ali'ect tlie most: 
Feel as they write, and write but as lliey feel- 
Bear witness Giflord,'-* Solheby,'^ Macueik"* 

" Why slumbers Gilford?" once was atkcJ 

in vain ; 
Why slumbers Gilford? let us ask again. 
Are there no follies f(.)r his pen to purge ?'7 
Are there no fools whose backs demand the 

scourge ? 
Are there no sins for satire's brj-d to gi-eet ? 
Stalks not gigantic Vice in every street? 
Shall peers or princes tread pollution's path, 
And 'scape alike the law's and muse's wrath? 
Nor blaze willi guilty glare through Aiture time. . 
Eternal beacons of c<nismnmate crnne ? 
Arouse thee, Gitlbrd ! be thy promise claim d. 
Make bad men belter, or at least ashamed. 

Unhappy White !*8 while life was in its 

spring, [wing. 

And thy young muse just waved her joyous 
The spoiler swept that soaring lyre a^^"ay, 
Wliich else had sounded an immortal lay. 
Oh I what a noble heart was here undone. 
When Science" self destroy 'd her favourite son 
Yes, she too much indulged thy fond pursuit, 
She sow'd the seeds, but death has reap'd the 

fruit. 
'Twas thine o\^ti genius gave the final blow, 
And help'd to plant the wound that laid tii.«" 

low : 
So the struck eagle, stretch'd upon thephun, 
No more thi-ough rolling clouds to soar agiun, 
Vicw'd his own feathei' on tlie fatal doit. 
Arid wing'd the shaft tliatquiverM in his heart; 
Keen were his pangs, but keener far to feel. 
He nursed the pniion which impell'd the steel; 
While the same plumage that had warm'd his 

nest 
Drank the last life-drop of his bleeding breast 

There be, who say, in these enlighten'd days. 
That splendid lies are all the poet's praise • 
That strain'd invention, ever on the wing, 
Alone impels the modein bard to sing : 



SCOTCH REVIEWERS. 



187 



Tis trae, that all who rhyme — nay, all who 

write. 
Shrink lioni that fatal word to genius— trite; 
Yet Truth sometimes will lend her noblest tires, 
And decorate the verse herself inspires : 
This fact in Virtues name let. Crabbe attest ; 
Though nature's sternest painter, yet the besL 

And here let Shee'9 and Genius find a place, 
"NVhose pen and pencil yield an equal grace ; 
To guide whose hand the sister arts combine, 
And trace thepoet'-s or the painter's line ; 
Whose magic touch can bid the canvass glow, 
Or pour the easy rhyme's harmonious flow. 
While honours, doubly merited, attend 
The poet's rival, but the painter's friend. 

Blest is the man who dares approach the 

bower 
Where dsvelt the muses at their natal hour; 
Whose steps have press'd, whose eye has 

mark'd afar, 
The clime that nursed the sons of song and war, 
The scenes which glory still must hover o'er, 
Her place of birth/hcr own Achaian shore. 
But doubly blest is he whose heart expands 
Withhallow'd feelings for those classic lands; 
Who rends the veil of ages long gone by, 
And views their remnants with a poet's eye ! 
Wright '.80 'twas thy happy lot at once to view 
Those shores of glory, and to sing them too; 
And sure no common muse inspired thy pen 
To hail the land of gods and godlike men. 

And vou, associate bards l^l who snatch'd to 

light [sight; 

Those gems too long withheld from modern 

V^Tiose mingling taste combined to cull the 

wreath 
Where Attic flowers Aonian odours breathe, 
And all their renovated fragrance Hung, 
To grace the beauties of your native tongue; 
Now let those minds, that nobly could transfuse 
The glorious spirit of the Grecian nmse. 
Though soft the echo, scorn a boiTow'd tone : 
Resign Achaia's lyre, and strike your own. 

Lest these, or such as these, with just 
applause, 
Restore the muse's violated laws; 
But not iu flimsy Darwin's pompous chime, 
That mighty master of unmeaning rhyme, 
Whose glided cymbals, more adorn'd than clear, 
The eve delighted, but fatigued the ear; 
In show the simple lyre could once sui-pass, 
B'j{ now, worn down, appear in native brass; 



While all his train of hovering sylphs around 
Evaporate in similes and sound: 
Him let them shun, with him let tinsel die : 
False glare attracts, but moi-e offends the eyet 

Yet let them not to vulgar Wordswoitb 

stoop. 
The meanest object of the lowJj group, 
Whose verse, of all but childish prattle void. 
Seems blessed harmony toLarabe and Lloyd .*£ 
Let them — but hold, my muse, nor da^e to 

teach 
A strain far, far beyond thy humble reach: 
The native genius with their being given 
Will point the path, and pe.il their notes te 

heaven. 

And thou, too, Scott, resign to minstrels rude 
The wilder slogan of a border feud : 
Let others spin tneir meagi-e lines for hire j 
Enough for genius, if itself inspire ! 
Let Southey sing, although his ♦.eeming muse. 
Prolific every spring, be too prorui^e ; [verse 
Let simple Wordsworth chime his ^hildish 
And brother Coleridge lull the babe at nurse; 
Let spcctre-mongering Lewis aim, at most, 
To rouse the galleries, or to raise a ghost; 
Let Moore still sigh ; let Strangford steal from 

Moore, [yore; 

And swear that Camoens sang such notes of 
Let H;iyley hobble on, Montgomery rave. 
And go(lly'Graliame chant a stupid stave; 
Let sonneteering Bowles his sti-ains refine, 
And whine and whimper to the fourteenth line; 
Let Seott, Carlisle, Matilda, and the rest 
Of Grub-street, and of Grosvenor-place the best, 
Scrawl on, till death release us fr<>n- the strain, 
Or Common Sense assert her ri^nts again. 
But thou, with powers that mock the aid ©f 

praise, 
Shouldst leave to humbler hards ignoble lays ■ 
Thy country's voice, the voice of all the nine, 
Demand a hallow'd hai-j) — that harp is thine. 
Sayl will not Caledonia's annals yield 
I'h'e glorious record of some noble; feld, 
Than the wild foray of a plundeiing clan. 
Whose proudest deeds disgi-ace the name at 

man? 
Or Marmion's acts of darkness, fitter food 
For Sherwood's outlaw tales of Robin Hood? 
Scotland! still proudly claim thy native hard 
And be thv praise his" first, his best reward I 
Yet not with thee alone his name should live. 
But own the vast renown a world can give; 
Be known, perchance, when Albion is no more. 
And tell the tale of what she was before; 



188 



ENGLISH BARDS AND 



To fnture times her faded fame recall, 

'^ud save her glory, though his country fall. 

Yet what avails the sanguine poet's hope, 
To conquer ages, and with time to cope? 
New eras spread their wings, new nations rise. 
And other victors fill the applauding skies; 
A few brief generations fleet along. 
Whose sons forget the poet and his song. 
E'en now, what once-loved minstrels scarce 

may claim 
The transient mention of a dubious name ! 
When fame's loud trump hath blown its noblest 

blast. 
Though long the sound, the echo sleeps at last; 
And glory, like the phobuix 'midst her fires, 
Exhales her odours, "ulazcs, and expires. 

Shall hoary Granta call her sable sons. 
Expert in science, more expert at puns? 
Shi^U these approach the muse ? ah, no ! she flies, 
Even from the tempting ore of Seaton's prize ; 
Though printers condescend the press to soil 
With rh}-me by Hoaie83, and epic blank by 

Hoyle:84 
Not him whose page, if still upheld by whist. 
Requires no sacred theme to bid us list, 8^ 
Ye : who in Granta's honours would suii^ass. 
Must mount her Pegasus, a full-grown ass; 
A foal well worthy of her ancient dam. 
Whose Helicon is duller than her Cima. 

There Clarke, still striving piteously "to 
please," 
Forgetting doggi'el leads not to degrees, 
A would be satirist, a hired buffoon, 
A monthly scribbler of some low lampoon. 
C jndemn'd to drudge, the meanest of the mean, 
And furbish falsehoods for a magazine. 
Devotes to scandal his congenial mind; 
Himself a living libel on mankind. 

Oh ! dark asylum of a Vandal race ! 85 
At once the boast of learning, and disgrace! 
So lost to Phoebus, that nor Hodgscm'sS* verse 
Can make thee better, nor poor Hewson's^S 

worse. 
But where fair Isis rolls her purer wave. 
The partial muse dthghted loves to lave; 
On her green banks a greener wreath she wove. 
To crown the bards thathaunther classic gi-ove; 
Wnere Richards wakes a genuine poet's fires, 
And modern Britons glory in their sires.89 

For me, who, thus unask'd have darea to tell 
My coim try , what her sons should know too well, 



Zeal for her honour bade me here engage 
The host of idiots that infest her age ; 
No just applause her honour'd name shall lose, 
As tirst in freedom, dearest to the muse. 
Oh! would thy bards but emulate thy fame, 
And rise more worthy, Albion, of thy name! 
What Athens was in science, Rome in power 
What Tyre appear'd in her meridian hour, 
'T is thine at once, fair Albion ! to have been-- 
Earth's chief dictatress, ocean's lovely qu.eeu ■ 
But Rome decay'd, and Athens strew'd the 

plain, ■ [main; 

And Tyre's proud piers lie shatter'd in the 
Like these, thy strength may sink, in ruin 

hurl'd. 
And Britain fall, the bulwark of the world. 
But let me cease, and dread Cassandra's fate 
With warning ever scoffd at, till too late ; 
To themes less lofty still my lay confine. 
And tuge thy bards to gain a name like thina 

Then, hapless Britain! be thy rulers blest 
The senate's oracles, the people's jest! 
Still hear thy motley orators dispense 
The flowers of rhetoric, though not of sense. 
While Canning's colleagues hate him for his 

wit. 
And old dame PoriJand^o fills the place of Pitt 

Yet once again, adieu! ere this the sail 
That wafts me hence is shivering in the gale 
And Afric's coast and Calpe's adverse height, 
And Stamboid's minarets must gi-eetmy sight: 
Thence shall I stray through beauty's native 

clime.9» 
Where Kaff is clad in rocks, and crown'd wit)* 

snows sublime. 
But should I back return, no tempting prtan> 
Shall drag my journal from the d'-sk's recess: 
Let coxcombs, printing as the* ootne irom far, 
Snatch his own wreath of rid.oule from Cair;9S 
Let Aberdeen and Elgin ^3 still pursue 
The shade of fame ihi-ough regions of virtu; 
Waste useless thousands on their Phidian 

freaks, 
Misshapen monuments and maim'd antiques ; 
And make their grand saloons a general mar* 
For all the mutilated blocks of art. 
Of DcU-dan tomrs let dilettanti tell, 
I leave topography to rapid 9^ Gell;^^ 
And, quite content, no more shall intei-pose 
To stim the public ear — at least with prose. 

Thus fiu- I "ve held my undisturb'd career, 
Piepared for rancour, steel'd 'gainst selfisk 
feai-; 



SCOTCH REVIEWERS. 



189 



This thing of rhyme I ne'er disdain'd to own — 
Though not obtnisivc, yet not quite unknown: 
My voice was heard again, though not so louil, 
My page, though nameless, never disavow'd; 
And now at once I tear the veil away: — 
Cheer on the pack! the quarry stands at bay, 
Unscared by all the din of Melbourne house. 
By Lanibe's resentment, or by Holland's spouse, 
By Jeffrey's harmless pistol, H;dlam's rage, 
Edina's brawny sons and brimstone page. 
Our men in buckram shall have blows enough, 
And feel they too " are peneti'able stuff:" 
And though I hope not hence unscathed to go, 
Who conquers me shall find a stubborn foe. 
The time hath been, w'hen no hai'sh sound 

would fall 
From lips thatnowmay seem imbued with gall; 
Nor fools nor follies tempt me to despise 
The meanest thing that crawl'd beneath my 



But now, so callous gro\\Ti, so changed sinc« 

youth, 
I 've learn'd to think, and sternly speak the 

truth ; 
Learn'd to deride the critic's starch decree, 
And break him on thewlieel he meant for me, 
To spurn lae rod a scribbler bids me kiss, 
Nor care if courts and crowds applaud or hiss: 
Nay more, though all my rival rhymesters 

fi'own, 
I too, can hunt a poetaster, down ; 
And, anii'd in proof, the gauntlet cast at once 
To Scotch marauder, and to southern dunce. 
Thus much I 've dared; if my incondite lay 
Hath wTong'd these righteous times, let other* 

say : 
This, let the world, which knows not how to 

spare, 
Tet raiely blames uDJusUy, now declare.^ 



I^eljreb) jHeloliies/ 



ADVERTISEMENT 

The subsequent poems were written at the 
refiuesl of my Irioiid, the Hon. Douglas 
K innaird, for aSelection of Hebrew Melodies2, 
and have been pubUshed, with the music, ar- 
ranged by Mr. Braliam and Mr. Nathan. 
January, 1815. 



/ 



SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY.^ 

She walks in beauty, like the night 
Of cloudless climes and starry skies ; 

And all that's best of dark and bright 
Meet in her aspect and her eyes : 

Thus mellow'd to that tender light _ 
Which heaven to gaudy day denies. 

One shade the more, one ray the less. 
Had half impair'd the nameless grace, 

Which waves in eveiy raven tress. 
Or softly hghtens o'er her face ; 

Where thouglits serenely sweet express, 
How pure, how lear their dwelling-place. 

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow. 

So soft, so cttlm, yet eloquent. 
The smiles that win, the tints that glow, 

But tell of days in goodness spent, 
* mind at peace with all below, 

A heart whose love is innocent 'V 



THE HARP THE MONARCH 
STREL SWEPT. 



MIN- 



Ihe hai-p the monarch minstrel swept, 
The King of men, the loved of Heaven, 

Which Music hallow 'd while she wept 
O'er tones her heart of hearts had given, 
Redoubled be her tears, its chords are riven 



It soflen'd men of iron mould. 

It gave them virtues not their own; 

No ear so dull, no soul so cold. 
That felt not, fired not to the tone, 
Till David's lyre giew mightier than hii 
throne ! 

It told the triumphs of our King, 

It wafted glory to our God ; 
It made our gladden'd valleys ring. 

The cedars bow, the moimtains nod ; 

Its sound aspired to Heaven and there abode 
Since then, though heard on earth no more. 

Devotion and her daughter Love, 
Still bid the bursting spirit soar 

To sounds that seem as from abovri. 

In dreams that day's broad light can ;n^ 
remove. 



IF THAT HIGH WCiXD. 

If that high world, which lies beyond 

Our own, surviving Lov^-; i^ndears; 
If there the chensn a near! be foad, 

The eye the same, exce^)t in tears- - 
How welcome those unir xlden sphf'ves 

How sweet this very 1 our to die! 
To soar from earth and iind all feau, 

Lost in thy light — Eternity I 

It must be so: 'tis not for self 

That we so tremnie on the brink ; 
And striving to o'erleap the gulf, 

Yet cling to Being's seveiing link. 
Oh ! in that future let us think 

To hold each heart the heart that ou* e» 
With them the immortal waters drink 

And soul in soul g'ow deathless thwiwi I 



HEBREW MELODIES. 



191 



THE WILD GAZELLE. 



ON JORDAN'S BANKS 



The wild ga/.elle on Judah's hills 

Exulting yet may bound, 
And drink from all the living rilb 

That gush on holy ground ; 
Its aiiy step and glorious eye 
May glance in tameless transport by : — 

A step as Sect, an eye more bright. 

Hath Judah witness 'd there; 
And o'er her scenes of lost dehght 

Inhabitants more fair. 
The cedars wave on Lebanon, 
But Judah's statelier maids are gone ; 

More blest each palm that shades those plains 

Than Israel's scatter 'd race ; 
For, taking root, it there remains 

In solitary grace : 
It cannot quit its place of birth, 
It will not live hi other earth. 

But we must wander witheringly, 

In other lands to die ; 
And where our fathers' ashes be, 

Our own may never lie: 
Our temple hath not left a stone. 
And Mockery sits on Salem's throne. 



OH! WEEP FOR THOSE. 

Oh ! weep for those that wept by Babel's stream, 
Whose shiines are desolate, whose land a dream ; 
Wer.p for the harp of Judah's broken shell ; 
Mourn — where their God hath dwelt the God- 
less dwell ! 

And where shall Israel 'ave her bleeding feet? 
And when shall Zion's songs again seem sweet? 
And Judah's melody once more rejoice 
The hearts that leap'd before its heavenly voice? 

Tribes of the wandering foot and weary breast, 
How shall ye Hee away and be at rest ! 
The wild-dove hath her nest, the fox his cave, 
Maukind their country — Israel but the grave. 



On Jordan's banks the Arab's camels stray 
On Sion's hill the False One's votaries pray 
The Baal-adorer bows on Sinai's ;leep — 
Yet there — even there — Oh God! thy thuD 
ders sleep : 

There — where thy finger scorch'd the tablol 

stone ! 
There — where thy shadow to thy people shone . 
Thy glory shrouded in its garb of fire: 
Thyself — none hving see and not expire. 

Oh ! in the lightning let thy glance appeal ; 
Sweep from his shiver'd hand the opprp.--sori 

spear : 
How long by tyrants shall thy land be trod ! 
How long thy temple worshipless, Oh God ! 



JEPHTHA'S DAUGHTER. 

Since our Country, our God — Oh, my sire 
Demand that thy Daughter expire; -, 
Since thy triumph was bought by thy vow- 
Strike the bosom that 's bared for thee now ! 

And the voice of my mourning is o'er, 
And the mountains behold me no more: 
If the hand that I love lay me low. 
There cannot be pain in the blow ! 

A!)d of this, oh, my Father ! be sin-e — 

That the blood of thy child is as pure 

As the blessing 1 beg ere it flow, 

And the last thought that soothes me below. 

Though llie virgins of Salem lament, 
Be the judge and (he hero unbent I 
I have won tlie great battle for thee, 
And my father and country are free ! 

When this blood of thy giving hath gush'd, 
When the voice that thou lovest is luish'd, 
Let my memory still be thy pride, 
And forget not I smiled as I died I 



OH ! SNATCH'D AWAY IN BEAUTY'S 
BLOOM. 

Oh I snatch'd away in beauty's bloom, 
On thee shall press no ponderous tomb | 



192 



HEBREW MELODIES. 



But on thy tiirf shall roses rear 

Their leuves, the earliest of the year ; 
And the wild c^^press wave in tender gloom • 

And oft by yon blue gushing stream 
Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head, 

And feed deep thought with many a dream, 
And lingering pause and lightly tread ; 
Fond wretch ! as if her step disturb'd the 
dead! 

Away 1 we know that tears are vain, 
That death nor heeds nor hears distress . 

Will ihis unteach us to complain? 
Or make one mourner weep the less? 

And thou— who tell'st me to forget, 

Thy 1<>0K!» taje wan, thine eyes are wet. 



i.IY SOaL IS DARK. 

My soul is dark — Oh ! quickly string 

The hai-p I yet can brook to hear; 
^.nd let thy gentle fingers fling 

Its melting murmurs o'er mine ear. 
S ni this heart a hope be dear, 

That sound shall charm it forth again : 
/f in these eyes there lurk a tear, 

'T will flow, and cease to burn my brain 

But bid the strain be wild and deep, 

Nor let thy notes of joy be first: 
I tell thee, minstrel, I must weep. 

Or else this heavy heart will burst; 
For it hath been my sorrow nursed, 

And ached in sleepless silence long ; 
And now 't is doom'd to know the worst, 

And break at once — or yield to song. 



f SAW THEE WEEP. 

I SAW thee weep — the big bright tear 

Came o'er that eye of blue; 
f nd then methought it did appear 

A violet dropping dew : 
I saw thee smile — the sapphire's blaz^ 

Beside thee ceased to shine ; 
It could not match the living rays 

That fiU'd that glance of thine. 

As clouds from yonder sun receive 

A deep and mellow dye, 
Wliich scarce the shade of coming eve 

Can banish from the sky. 



Those smiles unto the moodiest Tniad 
Their own pure joy impart; 

Their sunshine leaves a glow behind 
That lightens o'er the heart. 



THY DAYS ARE DONE. 

Thy days are done, thy fame begun ; 

Thy country's strains record 
The triimiphs of her chosen Son, 

The slaughters of his sword ! 
The deeds he did, the fields he won, 

The I'reedom he restored I 

Though thou art lall'n, while we are fre» 
Thou shalt not taste of death I 

The generous blood iriat llow'd from thee 
Disdain'd to sink beneath : 

Within our veins its currents be, 
Thy spirit on our breath ! 

Tliy name, our charging hosts along, 

Shall be the battle-word ! 
Thy fall, the theme of choral song 

From virgin voices pour'd ! 
To weep woulil do thy glories wrong; 

Thou shalt not be deplored. 



SONG OF SAUL BEFORE HIS LAST 
BATTLE. 

Warriors and chiefs! should the shaft or thi 

sword 
Pierce me in leading the host of the Lord, 
Heed not the corse, though a king's, in yoiu 

path: 
Bury your steel in the bosoms of Guth I 

Thou who art bearing my buckler and bow. 
Should the soldiers ol' Saul look away from 

the foe, 
Sti'etch me that moment in blood at thy feet! 
Mine be the doom which they dared not to meet 

Farewell to others, but never we part 
Heir to my royalty, son of my heart ! 
Bright is the diadem, boundless the sway. 
Or kingly the death, which awaits us tcvdaj. 



HEBREW MELODIES. 



193 



SAUL. 

Tnou whose spell can raise the dead, 

iJid the pii'phet's form appear. 
• Saimiel, raise thy buried head! 
King, bchoid the phantom seerl" 

Rarth yawii'd ; he stood the centre of a cloud : 

Light changed its hue, retiring from his 
shn)ud. 

Death stood all glassy in his fixed eye ; 

His hand waswither'd, and his veins were dry; 

Ilis foot, in bony whiteness, glitter'd there, 

Shrmiken and sinewless, and ghastly bare ; 

From lips that moved nol and unbreathing 
frame, 

Like cavern'd w inds, the hollow accents came. 

Said saw, and fell to earth, as fails the oak, 

At once, and blasted by the thunder-stroke. 

•* Why is my sleep disquieted ? 
AVho is he that calls the dead ? 
Is it thou, O King? Behold, 
Bloodless are these limbs, and cold : 
Such are mine ; and such shall be 
Thine to-mon-ow, when with me. 
F.rp the coming day is done, 
Sucn shalt thou be, such thy son. 
Fare thee well, but for a day, 
Then we mix our mouldering clay. 
Thou, thy race, lie pale and low, 
Pierced by shafts of many a bow; 
And the falchion by thy side 
To thy heart thy hand shall guide: 
Crownless, breathless, headless fall. 
Son and sire, the house of Saul. 



" ALL IS VANITY, SAITH THE 
PREACHER." 

Famp, wisdom, love, and power were min 

And health and youth possess'd me ; 
Wy goblets blush'd from every vine, 

And lovely forms caress'd me ; 
. sunn'd my heart ir beauty's eyes, 

And felt my soul grow tender ; 
AV. earth can give, or mortal prize, 

Was mine of regal splendour. 

1 striTe to number o'er what days 

Remembrance can discover. 
Which all that life or earth displays 

Would lure me to live over. 
T'sere rose no day, there roll d no hour ■, a 

Of pleasure unembittcr'd ; * 



And not a trapping deck'd my powar. 
That gall'd not while it glitter'd. 

The sequent of the field, by art 

And spells, is won Irom harming; 
But that which coils around the heart, 

Oh I who hafh power (f L^ianning? 
It will not list to wisdom's bre, 

Nor music's voice can lure it ; 
But there it stings for evermore 

The soul that must endure it. 



WHEN COLDNESS W^RAPS THH 
SUFFERING CLAY. 

When coldness wraps this suffering clay. 

Ah I whither strays the immortal mind? 
It cannot die, it cannot stray. 

But leaves its darken'd dust behind. 
Then, unembodied, doth it trace 

By steps each planet's heavenly way? 
Or fill at once the realms of space, 

A thing of eyes, that all survey? 

Eternal, boundless, undecay'd, 

A thought unseen, but seeing rJl, 
All, all in earth, or skies display'd, 

Shall it survey, shall it recall : 
Each fainter trace that memory holds 

So daiklyof departed years, 
In one broad glance the soul beholds, 

And all, that was, at once appears. 

Before Creation peopled earth, 

Its eye shall roll through chaos back , 
And where the furthest heaven had birth, 

The spirit trace its rising track. 
And where the future mars or makes, 

Its glance dilate o'er all to be, 
W^hile sun is quench'd or system breaks, 

Fix'd in its own eternity. 

Above or Love, Hope, Hate, or Fear, 

It lives all passionless and pure : 
.4.n age shall fleet like earthly year j 

Its yetu's as moments shall endure. 
Away, away, without a wing, 

O'er all, through all, its thought shall flyi 
A nameless and eteni;d thing, 

Foigetting what it was to di« 



194 



HEBREW MELODIES. 



VISION OP^ BELSHAZZAR. 

The King was on his throne, 

The Satraps throng' d tlie hali ; 
A thousand bright lamps shone 

O'er that high lestival. 
A thousand cups of gold, 

In Judah deem'd divine — 
Jehovah's vessels hold 

The godless Heathen's wiue. 

In tliat same hour and hall, 

The fingers of a hand 
Came forth against the wall, 

And wrote as if on sand; 
The fingers of a man ;— 

A solitary hand 
Along the lettere ran, 

And traced them like a wand. 

The monarch saw, and shook. 

And bade no more rejoice; 
All bloodless wax'd bis look, 

And tremulous his voice. 
" Let the men of lore appear. 

The wisest of the earth, 
And expoimd the words of fear, 

Which mar our royal mirth." 

Chaldea's seers are good, 

But here they have no skill ; 
And the unknown letters stood 

Untold and awful still. 
And Babcrs men of age 

Are wise and deep in lore ; 
But now they were not sage, 

They saw— but knew no more. 

A captive in the land, 

A stranger and a youth, 
He, heard the king's command. 

He saw that writing's truth. 
The lamps around were bright> 

The prophecy in view ; 
He read it on that night, — 

The mon-ow proved it true, 

" Belshazzar's grave is made, 

His kingdom pass'd away, 
He, in the balance weigh'd, 

Is light and worthless clay, 
The shroud, his robe of state, 

His canopy the stone: 
The MeJe is at his gatel 

The Persian on his throne." 



SUN OF THE SLEEPLESS. 

Sun of the sleepless? melancholy star! 
Whose tearful beam glows tremulously far, 
That show'st the darkness thou canst not disp«» 
How like art thou to joy remember'd well .' 
So gleams the past, the Mght of other days, 
Which shines, but warms not with its powe* 

less rays; 
A night-beam Sorrow watchetL to behold. 
Distinct, but distant — cleai- — but oh, how cold 



WERE MY BOSOM AS FALSE AS 
THOU DEEMST IT TO BE. 

Wkre my bosom as false as thou dcem'st ** 

to be, 
I need not have wander'd from far Galilee ; 
It was but abjuring my creed to eUace 
The curse which, thou say'st, is the crime ol 

my race : 

If the bad never triumph, then God is with 

. thee ! 
If the slave only sin, thou art spotless and 

fi-ee ! 
If the Exile on earth is an Outcast on high. 
Live on in thy faith, but in mine I will die. 

J have lost for that faith more than thou can* 

bestow. 
As the God who permits thee to prosj>er doitt 

know ; 
In his hand is my heart and ray hope — an* 

in thine 
The land and'the life which /or him I resign 



HERODS LAMENT FOR MARIAxMNE' 

Oh, Mariamne ! now for thee 

The heart for which thou bled'st is blecdiiig; 
Revenge is lost in agony. 

And wild remorse to rage succeeding. 
Oh, Mariamne ! where art thou? 

Thou canst not hear my bitter pleading. 
Ah ! couldst thou — thou wouldst pardon now, 

Though Heaven were to my prayer irnheed 
ing 



HEBREW MELODIES. 



195 



And is she dead? — and did they dare 

Obey my frenzy's jealous raving? 
Mv wrath but doom'd my own deN])air; 

The sword that smote hor's o'er me 
waving. — 
But thou art cold, my miu-der'd love I 

And this dark heart is vainly craving 
For her who soars alone above, 

And leaves my soul unworthy saving. 

She's gone, who shared my diadem • 

She sunk, with her my joys entombing ; 
1 sw'ept that flower from Judidi's stem, 

"VMiose leaves for me alone were blooming i 
And mine's the guilt, and mine the hell, 

This bosom's desolation dooming ; 
And I have earn'd those tortures well, 

Which unconsmned ai'e still consuming ! 



ON THE DAY OF THE DESTRUCTION 
OF JERUSALEM BY TITUS. 

Fkom the last hill that looks on thy once holy 
dome [Rome . 

f beheld thee, oh Sion ! when render'd to 

' r was thv last sun went down, and the flames 
of tliy fall [wall. 

Flash'd back on the last glance I gave to thy 

I look'd for thy temple, I look'd for my 
home. 

And forgot for a moment my bondage to come ; 

f beheld but th^ de^th-fire that fed on thy 
fane. 

And the fast fetter'd hands that* made ven- 
geance in vain. 

On many an eve, the high spot whence 1 gazed 
Had reflected the last beam of day as it blazed ; 
V.niile I stood on the height, and beheld the 

decline 
Of the rays from the mountain that shone on 

thy shrine. 

\nd now on that mountain I stood on that 
day, [away ; 

But I mark'd not the twilight beam melting 

Oh ! woidd that the lightning had glared in 
its stead. 

And the thunderbolt burst on the conqueror's 
head ! 



But the Gods of the Pagan s hall never profan* 
The shnne where Jehovah disdain'd not u 
reign; [be 

And scatter'd and scorn'd as thy people maj 
Our worship, oh Father, is only for thee. 



BY THE RIVERS OF BABYLON WE 
SAT DOWN AND WEPT. 

We sate down and wept by the waters 
Of Babel, and thought of the day 

When our foe, in the hue of his slaughter*. 
Made Salctn's high places his prey; 

And ye, oh her desolate daughtei's ! 
Were scatter'd all weeping away. 

Wliile sadly we gazed on the river 
^^^uch roll'd on in freedom below, 

They demanded the song ; but, oh never 
That Uiumph the stranger shaU know' 

May this right hand be wither'd fcr ever 
Ere it stiing our high harp for the foe ! 

On the willow that harp is suspended. 
Oh Salem ! its sound should be free ; 

And the hour when thy glories were endeo 
But left me that token of thee • 

And ne'er shall its soft tones be blended 
With the voice of the spoiler by me ! 



THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNA 
CHERIB. 

'iHE Ass-vm'an came down like the wolf on 

the fold. 
And liis cohorts were gleaming in purple and 

gold ; 
And the sheen of their spears was like stars 

on the sea, [Galilee. 

Wlien the blue wave rolls nightly on deep 

Like the leaves of the forest when Summer !• 
gi'cen, [seen 

That host with their banners at sunset were 

Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn 
hath blown, [strown. 

That host on the nMirrow lay wither'd aufi 
o 2 



196 



HEBREW MELODIES. 



For the Angel of Death spread his wings on 
the blast, [pass'd ; 

And breathed in the face of the foe as he 

And the eyes of the sleepers wax'd deadly and 
chill, [gi-ew still ! 

And their hearts but once heav'd, and for ever 

And there lay the steed with his nosti-il all wide, 
Bat thiough it there roli'd not the breath of 
his pride : [turf, 

And the foam of his gasping lay white on the 
And cold as the spray of the rock-beating sui-f. 

And there lay the rider distorted and pale, 
With the dew on his brow and the rust on his 

mail ; 
And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, 
The lances unlifted, tlie tiHunpet unblown. 

And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail. 
And the iduls are broke in the temple of Baal ; 
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the 
sword, [Lord ! 

Hath melted Uke snow in the glance ei tbe 



A SPIRIT PASSED BEFORE MB. 

FROM JOB. 

A SPIRIT pass'd before me : I beheld 

The face of immortality unveil'd — 

Deep sleep came down on eveiy eye sav 

miae — 
And there it stood, — all fonnless — but dj 

vine: 
Along my bones the creeping flesh did quake 
And as my damp bail- stiifen'd, thus it spake 

" Is man more just than God ? Is man more 

pure 
Than he who deems even Seraphs insecure ? 
Creatures of clay — vain dwellers in the 

dust! 
The moth siu^aves you, and are ye mart 

just ? 
Things of a day ! you wither ere the »ight, 
Heedless and bhnd to Wisdom's wa»ted 

light!" 



#!De to ^apolcon Buonaparte* 



" Expende Annibalem : 
Invenies ?" 



-quot libras in duce summo 
Juvenal, Sat. 



" The Emperor Nepos was acknowledged by the Senate, by the Italians, and by the Provincialj 
c! Gaul ; his moral virtues, and military talents, were loudly celebrated ; and those who derived any 
private benefit from his government announced in prophetic strains the restoration of public felicity. 

• •*«**** 

Bv ^liis shameful abdication, he protracted his life a few years, in a very ambiguous state, betwoan 
an Amperor and an Exile, till ." — Gibbon's Decline and Fall, vol, vi. p. 220 



Tis done — but yesterday a King! 

And ann'd with Kings to strive — 
And now thou an a nameless thing : 

So abject — yet alive' 
Is this the man of thousand thrones, 
Who strew'd our earth with hostile bones, 

And can he thus survive ? 
Since he, miscall'd the Morning Star, 
Nor man nor fiend hath fallen so far. 

Ill-minded man ! why scourge thy kind 

Who bow'd so low the knee ? 
By gazing on thyself gi-own blind, 

Thou taught'st the rest to sec. 
With might unquestion'd, — power to save,' 
Thine only gift hath been the grave, 

To those that worshipp'd thee ; 
Nov till thy fall could mortals guess 
Ambition's less than littleness ! 

I'hanks for that lesson — it will teach 

To after-wamor j more, 
Than high Philosophy can preath, 

And vainly preach'd before, 
hat spell upon the minds of men 
Breaks never to luii'te again, 

1 hat led them to adoie 
Those Pagod things of sabre sway, 
With fronts of brass, and feet of clay. 

The triumph, and the vanity, 

The rapture of tiie strife 2-0. 
The earthquake voice 01 Victory 

To thee the breath of life ; 
The sword, the sceptre, and that sway 
Which man seem'd made but to obey, 

WTiere\vnth renown was rife — 
All queli'd! — Dark Spirit! what must be 
Vhe madn<°>is of thy mcraoiy ! 



The Desolator desolate ! 

The Victor overthio-wn ! 
The Arbiter of others' fate 

A Suppliant for his own ! 
Is it some yet imperial hope. 
That with such change can calmly cofvt 

Or dread of death alone ? 
To die a prince — or live a slave — 
Thy choice is most ignobly brave ! 

He who of old would rend the oak, 
Dream'd not of the rebound ; 

Chain'd by the trunk he vainly broke- 
Alone — how look'd he round ? 

Thou, in the sternness of thy strength. 

An equtd deed hast done at length. 
And darker fate hast found : 

He fell, the forest prowlers* prey ; 

But thou must eat thy heart away! 

The Roman 3, when his burning heart 

Was slaked with blood of Rome, 
Threw down the dagger — dared depart. 

In savage grandeur, home — 
He dared depart in utter scorn 
Of men that such a yoke had borne. 

Yet left him such a doom ! 
His only glory was that hour 
Of self-upheld abandon'd power. 

The Spaniard, when the lust of sway 
Had lost its quickening spell, 

Cast crowns for rosaries away. 
An empire for a cell ; 

A stnct accountant of liis beads, 

A subtle disputant on creeds, 
His dotage trilled well : 

Vet better had he neither known 

A bigot's slmne, nor despot's throne. 



198 



ODE TO NAPOLEN BUONAPAKTE. 



But tlion — from thy reluctant hand 

The t.h-.inderbolt is wrung — 
Too late thou leav'st the high command 

To which lliy wcalcncss clung ; 
All Evil Spirit as tliou art, 
It is cnongh to grieve the heart 

'i'o see thine owni unstrung ; 
To think that God's fair v^orld hath been 
The footstool of a thing so mean ; 

Anil Earth hath spilt her blood for him, 

Who thus can hoard his own ! 
And Monaichs bow'd the trembling limb, 

And Ihank'd him for a throne! 
Fair Freedom ! we may hold thee dear. 
When thus thy mightiest foes their fear 

In humblest guise have shown. 
Oh ! ne'er may tyrant leave behind 
A brighter name to lure mankind ! 

Thine evil deeds are writ in gcre. 

Nor written thus in vain — 
Thy triumphs teD of fame no more, 

Or deepen every stain : 
If thou hadst died as honour dies, 
Some new Napoleon might aiise. 

To shame the world again — 
But who would soar the solar height. 
To set in such a stai'less night ? 

Weigh'd in the balance, hero dust 

Is vile as vulgar clay ; 
Thy scales, Mortality! are just 

To all that pass away : 
But yet methought the living great 
Some higher sparks should animate. 

To dazzle and dismay : 
Nor deem'd Contempt could thus make mirth 
Of these, the Conquerors of the earth. 

And she, proud Austria's mournful flower, 

Thy still imperial bride ; 
How bears her breast the torturing hour ? 

Still clings she to thy side? 
Must she too bend, must she too share 
Thy late repentance, long despair. 

Thou throneless Homicide ? 
If still she loves thee, hoard that gem ; 
T is worth thy vanish'd diadem !■♦ 

Then haste thee to thy sidlen Isle, 
And gize upon the sea ; 

That element may meet thy smile- 
It ne'er was ruled by thee ! 



Or trace with thine all idle hand, 
In loitering mood upon the sand. 

That E arth is now as free ! 
That Corinth's pedagogue^ hath now 
Transfen-'d his by -word to thy brow. 

Thou Timour! in his captive's cage* 
"Wliat thoughts will there be thine. 
While brooding in thy i)ri5ond rage? 
But one — " The world teas ^line !" 
Unless, like he of Babylon, 
All sense is with thy sceptre gone. 

Life will not long contine 
That spirit pour'd so widely forth — 
So long obey'd — so little wortli ! 

Or, like the thief of fire from heaven,' 

Wilt thou withstand the shock? 
And share with him, the unforgiven. 

His vulture and his rock ! 
Foredoom'd by God — by man accurst, 
And that last act, though not thy \<rorat, 

The very Fiend's arch mock ;8 
He in his fall presei-ved his ])ride. 
And, if a mortal, had as proudly died ! 

There was a day — there was an hour, 

"While earth was Gaul's — Gaul thine- 
Wlien that immeasurable power 

Unsated to resign 
Had been an act of purer fame, 
Tlum gathers round Marengo's name, 

And gilded thy decline. 
Through the long twilight of all time. 
Despite some passing clouds of crime. 

But thou forsooth must be a king. 

And don the purple vest, — 
As if that foolish robe could wring 

Remembrance from thy breast. 
W^here is that faded garment ? where 
The gewgaws thou wert fond to wear, 

The star — the string — the crest? 
Vain froward child of empire ! say. 
Are all thy playthings snatch'd away ? 

WTiere may the wearied eye repose, 
When gazing on the Great ; 

Where neither guilty glory glows, 
Nor despicable state ? 

Yes — one — the first — the last — the 

The Cincinnatus of the West, 
Whom envy dared not hate. 

Bequeath the name of Washington, 

To make vc an blush there was but Onw 



Clje Curse oi jHinerba* 



" Pallas te hoc vultcftj t -^as 

Immolat, et poenam scelerato ex sanguine samit." 

^ntid, Ub. lU. 



Athens, Capuchin Convent, March 17, 1811. 
Slow sinks, more lovely ere his race be run, 
Along Morea's bills the setting sun ; 
Not, as in northern climes, obscurely blight, 
But one unclouded blaze of living light; 
O'er the bush'd deep the yellow beam he throws, 
Gilds the green wave that trembles as it glows ; 
On old ^Egina's rock and Hydra's isle 
The god of gladness sheds his parting smile ; 
O'er his own regions lingering loves to shine, 
Though there his altai's are no more divine. 
Descending fast, the mountain-shadows kiss 
Thy glorious gulf, unconquer'd Salamis ! 
Their azure arches through the long expanse. 
More deeply pm-pled,meethismello\\'ingglance, 
And tenderest tints, along their summits driven, 
Mark his gay course, and own the hues of heaven; 
I'dl, darkly shaded from the laud and deep. 
Behind his Delphian rock he sinks to sleep. 

On such an eve his palest beam he cast 
When, Athens ! here thy wisest look'il his last. 
How watch'd thy better sons his farewell ray, 
That closed their murder'd sagc's2 latest day ! 
Not yet — not yet — Sol pauses on the hill. 
The precious hour of parting lingers still ; 
But sad his light to agonising eyes. 
And dark the mountain's once delightful dyes; 
fiJoora o'er the lovely land he seem'd to pour, 
"^The land where Phosbus never frown'd before; 
But 61 e he sunk below Cithreron's head, 
The cup of woe was quaft'd — the spirit fled; 
The soul of him that scoiu'd to fear or fly. 
Who lived and died as n )ue can live or die. 

But, lo! from high Hymcttus to the plain 
The queen of night asserts her silent reign ;3 
No murky vapour, herald of tlie storm, 
Hid.s her fair face, or gia-ds her glowing form. 



With cornice glimmering as the a Maleaju 

play, 
Fhere the white column greets her fpaufui 
And bright around, with quivering beams bead, 
Her emblem sparkles o'er the minaret; 
The groves of olive scatter'd dark and wide. 
Where meek Cephisus sheds his scanty tide, 
The cypress saddening by the sacred inos(|ue, 
The gleaming turret of the gay kiosk,'' 
And sad and sombre mid the holy calm, 
Near Theseus' fane, yon solitary palm ; 
All, tinged with varied hues, arrest the eye ; 
And dull were his that pass'd them heedless by. 

Again the ^Egean, heard no more afar, 
Lulls his chafed breast from elemental war ; 
Again his waves in milder tints unfold 
Their long expanse of sapphire and of gold, 
Mix'd with the shades of many a distant isle, 
That frown, where gentler ocean deigns to smile. 

As thus, within the walls of Pallas' fane, 
I mai'k'd the beauties of the land and main, 
Alone, and friendless, on the magic shore, 
Whose arts and anris but live in poets' lore; 
Oft as the matchless dome I tum'd to scan, 
Sacred to gods, but not secure from man, 
The past return'd, the present seem'd to cease, 
And Glory knew no clime beyond her Greece ! 

Hours roU'd along, and Dian's oib on Iiigb 
Had gain'd the centre of her softest sky ; 
And yet unwearied still my footsteps trod 
O'er the vain shrine of many a vanish'd god • 
But chiefly, Pallas I thine ; v\-hen Hecate's glar^ 
Check'd by thy columns, fell more sadly fair 
O'er the chill marble, where the startling tread 
Thiills the lone heart like echoes from the dead. 



200 



THE CURSE OF MINERVA. 



Long had I mused, axid treasured every trace 
The wreck of Greece recorded of her race, 
"When, lo 1 a ;>\ant form bel'ore me strode, 
And Pallas hail'd me in her own abode ! 

Yes, 'twas Mmerva's self; but, ah! how 
changed 
Since o'er the Dardan field in arms she ranged ! 
Isot such as erst, by her divine command, 
Her form appear'd from Phidias' plastic hand : 
G <ne were the teiTors of her awful brow, 
Her idle ajgis bore no Gorgon now ; 
Her helm was dinted, and the broken lance 
Seem'd weak and shaftless e'en to mortal glance, 
The olive branch, which still she deign 'd to clasp. 
Shrunk from her touch, and wither d in her 

grasp ; 
And, ah ! though still the brightest of the sky, 
Celestial tears bedimm'd her large blue eye ; 
Roand the rent casque her owlet circled slow. 
And mourn'd his mistress with a shriek of woe ! 

"Mortal!" — 'twas thus she spake — "that 

blush of shame 
Proclaims thee Briton, once a noble name ; 
First of the mighty, foremost of the free. 
Now honoiu-'d less by al'l, and least by me : 
Chief of thy foes shall Pallas still be found. 
Seek'st thou the cause of loathing? — look 

around. 
Lo ! here, despite of Avar and wasting hre, 
I saw successive tyrannies expire. 
"Scaped from the ravage of the Turk and Goth,5 
Thy country sends a spoiler worse than both. 
Survey this vacant, violated fane ; 
Recount the relics torn that yet remain: 
These Cecrops placed, this i'ericles adoni'd,6 
That Adrian rear'd when drooping Science 

mourn'd. 
What more I owe let gratitude attest — 
Know, Alaric and Elgin did the rest. 
That all may learn from \Ahence the plunderer 

came. 
The insulted wall sustains his hated name: 
For Elgin's fame thus grateful Pallas pleads, 
Below, his name — above, behold his deeds! 
P 3 ever hail'd with equal honour here 
The Gothic monarch and me Pictish peer: 
Arms gave the first his right, the last had none, 
But barely stole what less barbarians won. 
So whjn the lion quits his fell repast. 
Next prowls the wolf, the filthy jackal last: 
F!esh,limbs,andblood the formermake their own. 
The last poor b"ute securely gnaws the bone. 
Vet still the rods are j ust, and crimes are cross'd : 
See here w]jat Elgin won, and what he lost! 



Another name with his pollutes my shnne : 
Behold where Dian's beams disdain to shine 
Some retribution still might Pallas claim. 
When V'enus half avenged Mijierva's shame." 

She ceasexl awhile, and thus I dared reply. 
To soothe the vengeance kindling in her eye 
" Daughter of Jove ! in Britain's injured naiu% 
A true-born Briton may the deed disclaim. 
Frown noton England ; England ownshimnot- 
Athena, no ! thy plunderer was a Scot. 
Ask'st thou the difference? From fair Phjle'i 

to\\ers 
Survey Boeotia; — Caledonia's ours. 
And well I know within that bastard land^ 
Hath Wisdom's goddess never held command , 
A barren soil, where Nature's germs, confined 
To stern sterility, can stint the mind ; 
\^''hose thistle well betrays the niggard earth. 
Emblem of all to whom the land gives birth ; 
Each genial influence niiriured to resist; 
A land of meanness, sophistry, and mist. 
E ach bBeeze from foggy jnount and marshy plain 
I)i]utes with drivel every drizzly brain. 
Till, burst atlength, each watery head o'erdows. 
Foul as their soil, and frigid as their snows. 
Then thousand schemes of petulance and pride 
Despatch her scheming children far and wide 
Some east, some west, some every where but 

north. 
In quest of lawless gain, they issue forth, 
And thus — accursed be the day and year '— 
She sent a Pict to play the felon here. 
Yet Caledonia claims some native worth, 
As dull Boeotia gave a Pindar birth ; 
So may her few, the letter'd and the brave, 
Bound to no clime, and victors of the grave 
Shake off the sordid dust of such a land, 
And shine like children of a happier strand ; 
As once, of yore, in some obnoxious place, 
Ten namesfif found) had saved a wretched race.' 

"Mortal!" the blue-eyed maid resumed 
" once more 
Bear back my mandate to thy native shore. 
Though fallen, alas I this vengeance yet is mine 
To turn my counsels far from lands like thine 
Hear then in silence Pallas' stem behest ; 
Hear and believe, for Time will tell the rest 

*• First on the head of him v.-ho did this dee« 
My curse shall light,, — on him and all his seed 
Without one spark of intellectual fire. 
Be all the sons as senseless as the sire : 
If one with wit the parent brood disgrace, 
Believe hJni bastard of a brighter race; . 



THE CURSE OF MINERVA. 



201 



StiU with his hireling iirtists let him prate. 
And Folly's praise repay for Wisdom's hate; 
Long ot" tlieir patron's gusto let them tell, 
Whose noblest, native gusto is — to sell : 
To sell, and make — may Shame record the 

day ! — 
'1 ne state receiver of his pilfer'd prey.^ 
M jantime, the flattering, feeble dotard, West, 
Kiirope's worst dauber, and poor Britain's best. 
With palsied hand shall turn each model o'er 
iud own himself an infant of fourscore. ^^ 
ie all the bruisers cull'd from all St. Giles, 
That art and nature may coinpare then- styles; 
While brawmy brutes in stupid wonder stare, 
Andmarvelathislordship's 'stone shop'" there. 
Round the throng'd gate shall sauntering cox- 
combs creep. 
To lounge and lucubrate, u. prate and peep ; 
While many a languid maid, with longing sigh, 
On giant statues casts the curious eye ; 
The room with transient glance appears to skim, 
i^'et marks the mighty back and length of limb ; 
Mourns o'er the difi'erence of now and then ; 
EKclaims, 'These Greeks indeed were proj^sr 

men I'. 
Draws sly comparison^ of these with iftoi?, 
And envies Lais all her Attic beaux. 
When shall a modern maid have swains like 

these I 
Alas I Sir Hairy is no Hercules ! 
And last of all, amidst the gaping crew, 
Some calm spectator, as he takes his view, 
In silent indignation mix'd with grief, 
Admires the plunder, but abhors the thief.^2 
Oh, loathed in life, nor pardon'd in the dust, 
May hate pursue his sacrilegious lus* 
Link'd with the fool that fij'ed the Ephesian 

dome, 
Shall vengeance follow far beyond the tomb. 
And Eratostratus and Elgin shine 
In many a branding page and burning line; 
Alike reserved for aye to stand accursed, 
Perchance the second blacker than the first. 

" So let him stand, through ages yet unborn. 
Fix'd statue on the pedestal of Scorn ; 
Though not for him alone revenge shall wait, 
But fits thy country for her coming fate : 
Hers were the deeds that taught her lawless son 
To do what oft Britannia's self had done. 
Look to the Baltic — blazing from al'ar, 
Vour old ally yet mourns perfidious \var.l3 
Not to such deeds did Pallas lend her aid. 
Or break the compact which herself had made ;^ 
Far from such councils, from the faithless field 
She fled — ^but left beliind her Gorgon shield : 



A fatal gift, that turn'd your friends io stone. 

And left lost Albion hated and alone. 

"Look to the East, where Ganges' swartht 
race 
Shall shake your tyrant empire to its base ; 
Lo ! there Rebellion rears her ghastly head. 
And glares the Nemesis of native dead ; 
Till Indus rolls a deep purpureal flood. 
And claims his long aiTcai* of northern Wood 
So mav ve perish ! — Pallas, when she gave 
Your free-born rights, forbade ye to enslave. 

' Look on j'oiur Spain ! — she clasp.s the han. 

she hates, [g^ites. 

But boldly clasps, and thrusts you from ha 
Bear witness, bright Barossa ; thou canst tej 
Whose were the sons that bravelv fought ant 

fell. 
But Lusitania, kind and dear ally. 
Can spare a few to fight, and sometimes fly. 
Oh glorious field ! by Fan:iine fiercely won, 
The Gaul retires for once, and all is done ! 
But when did Pallas teach, that one retreat 
Retrieved tln-ee long olymjuads of defeat ? 

" Look last at home — ye iove not to loo* 

there ; 
On the grim smile of comfortless despair : 
Your city saddens : loud though Revel howls 
Here Famine faints, and yonder Rapine prowls 
See all alike of more or less bereft ; 
No misers tremble when there 's nothing left 
' Blest paper credit ''■*; who shall dare to sing ? 
It clogs like lead Corruj lion s weary wing. 
Yet Pallas pluck'd each premier by the ear, 
Who gods and men alike disdain'd to hear ; 
But one, repentant o'er a bankrupt state, 
yjn Paiias calls, — but calls, alas ; too late 
Tiien raves for * * ; to that Mentor bends, 
Though he and Pallas never yet were frierid& 
Him senates hear, whom never yet they hearl, 
Contemptuous once, and noAV no less absurd. 
So, once of yore, each reasonable frog 
Swore faith and fealty to his sovereign ' log. 
Thus hail'd yoiu" rulers their patrician clod. 
As Egypt chose an onion for a god. 

" Now fare ye well ! enjoy your liltlehour ; 
Go, gi-asp the shadow of your vanish 'd power ; 
Gloss o'er the failure of each fondest scheme; 
Your strength a name, your bloated wealth a 

dream. 
Gone is that gold, the marvel of mankind. 
And pirates barter all that's left behind. i* 
No more the hirelings, purchased near and far- 
Crowd to the ranks of mercenary war. 



202 



THE CURSE OF MINERVA. 



The idle merchant on the useless quay 
Droops o'er the bales no bark may bear away ; 
Or, back returning, sees rejected stores 
Rot piecemeal on his own encumber'd shores : 
The starved mecnanic breaks his rusting loom. 
And desperate mans him 'gainst the coming 

doom. 
Then in the senate of your sinking state 
Show me the man whose counsels may have 

weight. [command ; 

Vain is each voice where tones could once 
E'en factions cease to chann a factious land : 
Yet jarring sects convulse a sister isle, 
And light with maddening hands the mutual 

pile. 

• 'T is done, 't is past, since Pallas warns in 

vain ; 
The Furies seize her abdicated reign : 
Wide o'er the realm they wave their kindling 

brands, 
And wring her vitals with their fiery hands. 
But one convulsive struggle still remains, 
And Gaul shall weep ere Albion wear her chains. 
The banner 'd pomp of war, the glittering 

files, 
C'** ^hcse gay trappings stem Bellona smiles; 



The brazen trump, the spirit-stimng druBi, 
That bid the foe defiance ere they come ; 
The hero bounding at his coimtry's call, 
The glorious death tiiat consecrates his fall. 
Swell the young heart with visionaiy charms, 
And bid it antedate the joys of arms. 
But know, a lesson you may yet be taught. 
With death alone are laiu'els cheaply bought 
Not in the conflict Havoc seeks delight. 
His day of mercy is the day of fight. 
But when the field is fought, the battle won, 
Though drench'd with gore, his woes are bti 

begun : 
His deeper deeds as yet ye know by name ; 
The slaughter 'd peasant and the ravish'd dame. 
The rifled mansion and the foe-reap*d field, 
111 suit with souls at home, mitaught to yield. 
Say with what eye along the distant down 
Would flying burghers mark the blazing town ? 
How view the column of ascending flames 
Shake his red shadow o'er the startled Thames? 
Nay, frown not, Albion ! for the torch was thin« 
That lit such pyres from Tagus to the Rhine: 
Now should ihoy burst on thy devoted coast, 
Go, ask thy bosom who deserves them most. 
The law of heaven and earth is lif? for lift;, 
And sh 8 who raised, in vain regrets, the st/ife.* 



Wijt ©ream/ 



OcR life is tA\'ol /Id : Sleep hath iU own world, 
A boundary bet veen the things misnamed 
Dc&tt3 and existence: Sleep hath its own world, 
And a wide realm of wild reality, 
And dreams in their developement have breath, 
And teais, and tortures, and the touch of joy; 
They leave a weight upon our waking thoughts, 
They take a weight from off our waking toils, 
They do divide our being; they bt-come 
A portion of ourselves as of our time. 
And look like heralds of eternity; 
They pass like spirits of the past, — they speak 
Like sil)yls of the future; they have power — 
The tyranny of pleasure and of pain ; [will, 
They make us whiit we were not — what they 
And shake us with the vision that's g(mc by, 
Tlie dread of vanish'd shadows — Are they so? 
Is not the ])ast all shadow? WTiat are they? 
Creations of the mind? — The mind can make 
Substanee, and ])eople planets of its own 
With beings brighter thanhave been, and give 
A. breath to forms which can outlive all flesh. 
f would recall a visicm which I dream'd 
Perchance in sleep — for in itself a thought 
A slumbering thought, is capable of years, 
And curdles a long life into one hour. 



I saw two beings in the hues of youth 
Standing upon a hill, a gentle hill. 
Green and of mild declivity, the last 
As 't were the cape of a long ridge of such. 
Save that there was no sea to lave its base, 
But a most living landscape, and the wave 
Of woods and cornfields, and the abodes of men 
Seatter'd at intervals, and wreathing smoke 
Arising from siieh rustic roofs ; — the hill 
Was crown'd with a peculiar diadem 
Of trees, in circular array, so fix'd, 
Not by the sport of nature, but of man : 
These two, a maiden and a youth, were there 
Gazing — the one on all that was beneath 
Fair as herself — but the boy gazed on her; 
And both were young, and one was beautifid: 



And both were young — yet not alike in yoatl' 
As the sweet moon on the horizon's verge, 
The maid was on the eve of womanhood ; 
The boy had fewer summers, but his heart 
Had far outgrown his years, and to his eye 
Tiiere was but one beloved face on earth, 
And that was shining on him ; he had look'd 
Upon it till it could not pass away; 
He had no breath, no being, but in hers: 
She was his voice ; he did not speuk to her, 
But trembled on her words : she was his sight 
For his eye follow'd hers, and saw with hers, 
Which colour'd all his objects : — he'had ceased 
To live within himself; she was his life, 
Tlie ocean to the river of his thoughts. 
Which terminated all : upon a tone, 
A touch of hers, his blood would ebb aiv/ flow. 
And his cheek change tempestuously — his heart 
Unknowing of its cause of agony. 
But she in these fond feelings had no share: 
Her sighs were not for him ; to her he was 
Even as a brother — but no more ; 'twas much. 
For brotherless she was, save in the name 
Her infant friendship had bestow'd on him; 
Herself the solitary scion left 
Of a time-honour'd race. — It was a name 
Which pleased him, and yet pleased him nol 
— and why? [loved 

Tiinp. taucht him a deep answer — when sh< 
Another; even 7wio she loved another, 
And on the summit of that hill she stood 
Looking afar if yet her lover's steed 
Kept pace with her expectancy, and flew. 



A change came o*'ir the spirit of my dream. 
There was an ar-;ient mansion, and before 
Its walls there uas a steed eapaiison'd : 
Within an anti^^iic Oiatory stood' 
The Boy of whom I spake ; — he was alone, 
And pale, and paring to and fro: anon 
He sate him down, and seized a pen, and traced 
Words which I could not guess of; then he 
lein'd ['twere 

His bow'd head on h's hands, and shock a» 
With a convulsion — then arose again, 



204 



THE DREAM. 



Anfl wilh his feeth and quivering hands did 

tear 
What ne had %mtt.en, but he shed no tears. 
And he did cahn himself, and fix his brow 
Into a kind of quiet: as he paused, 
The Lady of his love re-cnter\l there ; 
She was serene and smiling then, and yet 
yie knew slie was by him beloved, — she knew 
lor quickly comes such knowledge, that his 

heart 
Wai\ darken'd with her shadow, and she saw 
Tha: he was wretched, but she saw not all.2 
He rose, and with a cold and gentle grasp 
He took her hand ; a moment o'er his face 
A tablet of unutterable thoughts 
Was traced, and then it faded, as it came ; 
He dropp'd the hand he held, and with slow 

steps 
Retired, but not as bidding her adieu. 
For they did part with mutual smiles ; he pass'd 
From out the massy gate of that old Hall, 
And mounting on his steed he went his way ; 
And ne'er repass'd that hoary threshold more. 



A change came o'er the spirit of my dream. 
The Boy was sprung to manhood : in the wilds 
Of fiery climes he made himself a home, 
And his Soul drank their sunbeams : he was 

girt 
With strange and dusky aspects ; he was not 
Himself like what he had been ; on the sea 
And on the shore he was a wanderer ; 
There was a mass of many images 
Crowded like waves upon ine, but he was 
A part of ail ; and in the last he lay 
Jleposing from the noontide sultriness, 
Couch'd among fallen columns, in the shade 
Of ruin'd walls that had survived the names 
Of those who rear'd them ; by his sleeping side 
Stood camels grazing, and some goodly steeds 
Were fasten'd near a fountain ; and a man 
Clad m a flowing garb did watch the while, 
While many of his tribe slumber'd around : 
And they were canopied by the blue sky, 
So cloudless, clear, and purely beautiful. 
That God alone was to be seen in Heaven. 

V. 

A change came o'er the spirit of my dream. 
The Lady of his love was wed with One 
Who did not love her better : — in her home, 
A thousand leagues fromhis, — her native home, 
She dwelt, begirt with growing Infancy, 
Daughters and sons of Beauty, — but behold ! 



Upon her face there was the tint of grief, 
The settled shadow of an inward strife, 
And an unquiet drooping of the eye. 
As if its I'd were charged with unshed tears. 
What could her grief be ? — she had all she 

loved, 
And he who had so loved her was not there 
To trouble with bad hopes, or evil wish, 
Or ill-rcpress'd affliction, her pure thoughts. 
What could her grief be? — she had loved hiir 

not. 
Nor given him cause to deem himself beloved 
Nor could he be a part of that which prey'd 
Upon her mind — a spectre of the past. 



A change came o'er the spirit of my dream. 
The Wanderer was return'd. — I saw him stand 
Before an Altar — with a gentle bride; 
Her face was fair, but was not that which made 
The Starlight of his Boyhood ; — ^as he stood 
E ven at tlie altar, o'er his brow there came 
The selfsame aspect, and the quivei \ng shock 
That in the antique Oratory shook 
His bosom in its solitude ; and then — 
As in that hour — a moment o'er his face 
The tablet of unutterable thoughts 
Was traced — and then it faded as it came, 
And he stood calm and quiet, and he spoke 
The fitting vows, but heard not his own words 
And all things reel'd around him ; he could see 
Not that which was, nor that which should 

have been — 
But the old mansion, and the accustom'd hall^ 
And the remember 'd chambers, and the place, 
The day, the hour, the sunshine, and the shade. 
All things pertaining to that place and hour. 
And her who was his destiny, came back 
And thrust themselves between him and the 

light: 
What business had they there at such a time ?3 



A change came o'er the spiiit of my dream. 
The Lady of his love ; — Oh ! she was changed. 
As by the sickness of the soul ; her mind 
Had wander'd from its dwelling, and her eyes 
They had not their own lustre, but the look 
Which is not of the earth; she was become 
The queen of a fantastic realm ; her thought* 
Were combinations of disjointed things ; 
And forms impalpable and unperceived 
Of others' sight familiar were to hers. 
And this the world calls frenzy ; but the wiw 
Have a far deeper madness, and the glance 



THE DREAM. 



205 



Of melancholy is a fearful gift ; 
Whal is il but the telescope of truth ? 
Which strips the distance of its fantasies, 
And brings 14fe near in utter nakedness, 
Making the cold reality too real 1 



A change came o'er the spirit of my dream. 
The Wanderer was alone as lieretofore, 
The beings which surrounded him were gone, 
Or were at war with him ; he was a mark 
For blight and desolation, compass'd round 
With Hatred and Contention ; Pain was mix'd 
In all which was served up to him, until, 
Like to the Pontic monarch of old days,"* 
He fed on poisons, and they had no power, 
But were a kind of nutriment ; he lived 
Though that which had bg^c death to many 



And made him friends of mountains v with ih« 

stars 
And the quick Spirit of the Universe 
He held his dialogues ! and they did teach 
To him the magic of tlieir mysteries ; 
To him the book of Night was open'd wide, 
And voices from the deep abyss reveal'd 
A marvel and a secret — Be it so. 



n. 



My dream was past ; it had no furthe- change 

It was of a strange order, that the doom 

Of these two creatures should be thus traced 

out 
Almost like a reality — the onj 
To end in madness — both in misery. 

Jnkj, m6, 



Clje ILament of Casso. 



ADVERTISMENT. 

At Ferrara, in the Library, are preserved the 
original MSS. of Tasso's Gicrustilemme and 
of Guarini's Pastor Fido, with letters of Tasso, 
one from Titian to Ariosto, and the inkstand 
and chair, the tomb and the house, of the 
latter. But, as misfortune has a greater in- 
terest for posterity, and little or none for the 
cotemporary, the cell where Tasso was con- 
tined in the hospital of St. Anna attracts a 
more fixed attention than the residence or the 
monument of Ariosto — at least it had this eflect 
on me. There are two inscriptions, one on 
tlae outer gate, the second over the cell itself, 
inviting, unnecessarily, the wonder and the 
indignation of the spectator. Ferrara is much 
decayed, and depopulated : the castle still exists 
entire; and I saw the court where Parisina 
and Hugo were beheaded, according to the 
O-uial of Gibbon. 1 



©i)e Uanunt of ©asso. 



Long years! — It tries the thi-illing frame to bear 
And eagle-spirit of a child of Song — 
Long years of outrage, calumny, and wrong; 
Imputed madness, prison'd solitude, 
And the mind's canker in its savage mood, 
When the impatient thirst of light and air 
Parches the heart: and the abhorred grate. 
Marring the sunbeams with its hideous shade. 
Works through the throbbing eyeball to the 

brain, 
With a hot sense of heaviness and pain; 
And bare, at once, Captivity display'd 
Stands scotP.ng through the never-open'd gate, 
Which nothing through its bars admits, save 

(lay. 
And tasteless food, which I have eat alone 
Till its unsocial bitterness is gone ; 
knl I can banquet like a beast of prey, 



Sullen and lonely, couching in the cave 
Which is my lair, and — it may be — my grave. 
All this hath somewhat worn me, and mal 

wear. 
But must be borne. I stoop not to desroir; 
For I have battled with mine agony. 
And made me wings wherewith to overfly 
The narrow circus of my dungeon wall. 
And freed the Holy Sepulchre from thrall; 
And revell'd among men and things divmo 
And pour'd my spirit over Palestine, 
In honour of the sacred war for Hirr;, 
The God who was on earth and is in heaven, 
For he has strengthen'd me in heai't and limU 
That tlu-ough this sulierance I might be for- 
given, 
I have employ'd my penance to record 
How Salem's shiiue was won and how adored • 



But this is o'er — my pleasant task is done:— 
My long sustaining friend of many yeai'sl 
If I do blot thy final page with tears. 
Know, that my sorrows have wrung from rue 

none. 
But thou, my young creation ! my soul's child ■ 
Which ever playing round me came and smiled. 
And woo'd me from myself with thy sweet sight 
Thou too art gone — and so is my dehght; 
And therefore do I weep and inly bleed 
With this last bi'uise upon a broken reed. 
Thou too art ended — what is left nTe now? 
For I have anguish yet to bear — and how? 
I know not that — but in the innate force, 
Of my own spirit shall be found resource, 
I have not siuik, for I had no remorse, 
Nor cause for such: they call'd me mad — an# 

why? 
Oh Leonora! wilt not thou reply? 
I was indeed delirious in my heart 
To lift my love so lofty as thou art; 
But still my frenzy was not of the mind: 
I knew my fault, and feel my punishment 
Not less because I suffer it unbent. 
That thou wert beautilul, and I not blind. 
Hath been the sin which shuts me torn maJ- 

kind; 



THE LAMENT OF TASSO. 



207 



But let them go, or torture as they will, 

My heart can multiply thine image still; 

Saccesiiful love may sate itself away, 

The wretched are the faithful; 'tis their fate 

To have all feeling save Uie one decay, 

And every pas.-^ion into one dilate, 

As rapid rivers into ocean pour; 

Bu. oui-s is fathomless, and hath no shore. 



Above mo, hark! the long and maniac cry 
Of minds and bodies in captivity. 
And hark ! the lash and the increasing howl. 
And the half-inaniculate blasphemy! 
There be some here with worse than frenzy foul. 
Some v.- ho do still goad on the o'er-Iabour'd mind, 
And dim ihe little light that 's left behind 
With needless torture, as their tyrant will 
Is wound up to the lust of doing ill: 3 
With these and with their victims am I class'd, 
'Mid sounds and sights like these long years 
have pass'd; [close: 

'Mid sights and soimds like these my life may 
So let it be — for then I shall repose. 



I Lave been patient, let me be so yet; 

I had forgotten half I would forget, 

But it revnves — Oh! would it were my lot 

To be forgetful as I am forgot ! — 

Feel I not wroth \vith those who bade me dwell 

111 this vast lazar-housu of many woes? 

Where laughter is not mirth, nor thought the 

mind, 
Nor words a language, nor ev'n men mankind, 
Where cries reply to curses, shrieks to blows. 
And each is tortured in his separate hell — 
F'jv we are crowded in our solitudes — 
Many, but each divided by the wall, 
Which echoes Madness in her babbling 

moods; — [call — • 

While all can hear, none heed his neighbour's 
None ! save that One, the veriest wretch of all,4 
\r>i> was not made to be the mate of these, 
Noi bound between Distraction and Disease. 
Peel I not wroth with those who placed me here ? 
Who have debased me in the minds of men. 
Debarring me the usage of my own, 
Br.ghting my life in best of its career, 
Branding my thoughts as things to shun and 

fear? 
Would I not pay them back these pangs again, 
Vnd teach them inward Sorrow's stifled gi-oan? 
The struggle to be calm, and cold distress, 
'^hich undennines oui' Stoical success? 



No ! — still too proud to be vindictive — I 
Iluve pardou'd princes' insults, and would die 
Yes, Sister of my Sovereign ! for thy sake 
I weed all bitterness from out my breast. 
It hath no business where thou art a gu(;st ; 
Thy brother hates — but I can not dete-t ,"5 
Thou pitiest not — but I ctm not forsake. 



Look on a love which knows not to despair, 
But all unquench'd is still my better part. 
Dwelling ileep in my shut and silent heart, 
As dwells the gather'd lightning in its cloud, 
Encompass'd with its dai'k and rolling shroud 
Till struck, — forth flies the all-etherial dart ! 
And ihus ai me collision of thy name 
The vivid thought still flashes tlu'ough my frame 
And for a moment all things as tliey were 
Hit by me ; — they itre gone — I am the same. 
And yet my love without anibiiion grew ; 
I knew thy state, my station, and I knew 
A Princess was no love-mate for a bard ; 
I told it not, I breathid it not, it was 
Sulhcient to itself, \ii own reward ; 
And if my eyes revea''d it, they, alns ! 
Were punish'd by the silentness of thi-j,e 
And yet I did not venture to repine. 
Thou well to me a crystal-girded shrine, 
Worshipp'd at holy distance, and aiov»3d 
Hallow'd and meekly k'lss'd the saintly ground 
Not for thou wert a p "incess, but that Love 
Had robed thee with & glory, and aiTay'd 
Thy lineaments in beauty that dismayd — 
Oh ! not dismay'd — but awed, like One above 
And in that sweet seveiit/ there was 
A something which all softness did sui-pass — 
I know not how — thy genius master'd mine— 
My star stood still before thee : — if it were 
Presumptuous thus to lo^e %vithout design, 
That sad fatality hath o^st me dear; 
But thou art dearest siiU, and I should br 
Fit for this cell, which wrongs me — uct fo» 

ihee. 
The very love which loc]:'d me to my chaiu 
Hath lighten'd half its weigh: ; and lor the 

rest. 
Though heavy, lent me ^nigonr lo sustain 
And look to thee with undivided breast. 
And foil the ingenuity of Paia.' 

VI. 

It is no marvel — from my very birth 

My soul was drunk with love, — which did 

pervade 
And mingle with whate'er I saw on eaith; 
Of objects all JQanimate I made 



208 



THE LAxMENT OF TASSO. 



Idols, and out of \\ikl and lonely flowers, 
And rocks, whereby they grew, a paradise, 
Wliere I did lay nie down within tlie shade 
Of waving trees, and dreani'd uncounted boiu*s, 
Though I was chid for wandering ; and the 

Wise 
Shook their white aged heads o'er me. and said 
Of such materials wTetched men were made, 
And such a truant boy would end in woe, 
And that the only lesson was a blow ; — 
And then they smote me, and I did not weep, 
But cursed them in my heart, and to my haimt 
Return'd and wept alone, and di'eam'd again 
1 he visions which aiise without a sleep. 
And with my years my soul began to pant 
With feelings of strange tumult and soft pain ; 
And the whole heart exhaled into One Want, 
But undefined and wandering, till the day 
I found the thing I sought — and that was thee ; 
A.nd then I lost my being all to be 
A.bsorb'd in thine — the world was past away — 
Thou didst annihilate the eailh to me ! 



loved all Solitude — but little thought 
To spend I know not what of life, remote 
Vrom all communion with existence, save 
The maniac and hi« tyrant ; — had I been 
Thoii' fellaw. many years ere this had seen 
My mind like theirs coiTupted to its grave, 
Jiut who hath ssen me writhe, or heard me 

rave? 
*'erchance in such a cell we suffer more 
Than the \%Teck'd sailor on his desert shore ; 
The world is all before him — m<?ie is here, 
Scarce t^^^ce the space they must accord my 

bier. 
What though he perish, he may lift his eye 
Au\[ with a dying glance upbraid the sky — 
I will not raise my own in such reproof. 
Although 'tis clouded b; my dungeon roof. 



Vet do 1 feel at times my mind decline, 
{Jut with a sense of its decay : — I see 
'JuA-onted lights along my prison shine, 
^lid a strange demon, v.'ho is vexing me 
>Vith pilfering pranks and petty pains, below 
The feeling of the healthful and the free ; 
"Hut much to One, who long hath suffer'd so. 
Sickness of heart, and narrowness of place. 
And all that may be borne, or can debase. 
1 thought mine enemies had been but Man, 
But Spirits may be leagued with them — all 

Earth 
Abandons — Heaven forgets me ; — in the dearth 



Of such defence the Powers of Evil can. 
It may be, tempt me further, — and prevail 
Against the outworn creature they assail. 
Why in this fui-nace is my spirit proved 
Like steel in tempering fii-e? because I loved. 
Because I loved what not to 'i>ve, and see. 
Was more or less than mortal, and tliiui mt 



I once was quick in feeling — th.t is o'er ;— 
My scars are callous, or I should have dash'd 
My brain against these bars, as the sun ilashd 
In mockery through them ; — If I bear and bore 
The much I have recounted, and the more 
Which hatli no words, — 'tis that I would not 

die 
And sanction with self-slaughter the dull 
Which snared me here, and with the bran oL 

shame 
Stamp Madness deep into my memory, 
And woo Conipassion to a blighted name. 
Sealing the sentence which my foes proclMm- 
No — it shall be inunortal ! — and I make 
A futm-e temple of my present cell. 
Which nations yet shall visit for my sake. 
While thou, Ferrara ! when no longer dw 11 
The ducal chiefs within thee, shalt fall do n. 
And criunbling piecemeal view thy hearthless 

halls, 
A poet's \vreath shall be thine only crown,— 
A poet's dungeon thy most far renown, 
While strangers wander o'er thy un])copled 

walls ! [shamed 

And thou, Leonora! — thou — who wcrt » 
That such as I could love — who blush'd to 

hear [dear, 

To less than monarchs that thou couldst be . 
Go ! tell thy brother, that my heart, untamed 
By grief, years, weariness — and it may be 
A taint of that he would impute to me — 
From long infection of a den like this, 
Where the mind rots congenial w ilh ihe abyss, 
Adores tliee still ; — and add — Uiat when the 

towers 
And battlements which guard his joyous hou 
Of banquet, dance, and revel, are forgot, 
Or left untended in a dull repose. 
This — this — shall be a consecrated s])()t ! 
But thou — when all that Birth and Beat;ity 

throws 
Of magic round thee is extinct — shalt have 
One half the laurel which o'cr.v.hades my grave. 
No power in death can tear our names apart, 
As none in life could rend ihct. from my heart 
Yes, Leonora ! it shall be our fate 
To be entwined for ever — but too late ? 



BY QUEVEDO REDIVIVUS.' 

•V80B8TKD BY THK COMPOSITION SO ENTITLED BY THE AUTHOll OF " WAT TTLKB.' 



A Daniel come to judgment ! yea, a Daniel ! 
I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word." 



PREFACE. 

It hatli been wisely said, that " One fool makes 
mai%';" and it halh been poetically observed, 

" That fools rush in where angels fear to tread." 

Pope. 

If Mr. Southey had not rushed in where he 
had no business, and where he never was be- 
fore, and never will be again, the following 
poem would not have been wiitten. It is not 
impossible that it may be as good as his own, 
seeing that it cannot, by any species of stupidity, 
nalui-al or acquired, be wo'^se. The gioss flat- 
tery, the dull impudence, the renegado intole- 
rance and impious cant, of the poem by the 
author of " Wat Tyler," are something so stu- 
pendous as to form the sublime of himself — 
containing the quintessence of his own attri- 
butes. 

So much for his poem — a word on his pre 
face. In this preface it has pleased the mag 
nanimous Laureate to draw the picture of a 
sujiposed " Satanic School," tlie which he doth 
recommend to the notice of the legislature ; 
thereby adding to his other laurels the ambi- 
tion of tho.-e of an informer. If there exists 
any where, excepting in his imagination, such 
a Scho(jl, is he nut sufficiently armed against 
it by his own intense vanity ? The truth is, 
tiiat therj are certain writers whom Mr. S. 
imagines, like Scrub, to have " talked of him ; 
for they laughed consumedly." 

I think I know enough of most of the 
WTiters to whom he is supposed to allude, to 
assert, that they, in their individual capacities, 
have done more good, in the chmities oi life, 
to tlieir fellow-creatures in any one year, than 
Mr. Southey has done harm to himself by his 
absurdities in his whole life ; and this is say- 
ing a great deal. But I have a few questions 
U> ask. 

15 



Istlv, Is Mr. Southey the author of ' W«l 

Tyler?" 

2dly, Was he not refused a remedy at la-w 
..y the highest judge of his beloved Enghmd. 
oecause it was a blasphemous and seditious 
publication ?2 

3dly, Was he not entitled by William Smith, 
^n full parliament, " a rancorous renegado ?"3 

4tbly, Is he not poet laureate, with his own 
lines on Martin the regicide staring him in 
Uie face? 4 

And, 5thly, Putting the four preceding items 
together, with ■what conscience dare he call 
the attention of the laws to the publications of 
others, be they what they may ? 

I say nothing of the cowardice of such a 
proceeding; its meanness speaks for itself; 
but I wish to touch upon the motive, which is 
neither more nor less than that Mr. S. has 
been laughed at a little in some recent publi- 
cations, as he was of yore in the " Anti-;aco 
bin" by his present patrons.5 Hence all this 
" skimble-scamble stuff" about " Satanic," and 
so forth. However, it is worthy of him — 
" qualis ah incepto." 

Il' there is any thing obnoxi(jus to the jM)li 
tical opiniOi.s of a portion of the public in tlie 
following poem, they may thank M;. Southey. 
He might have written hexameters, as he h;is 
written every thing else, for aught that tiie 
writer cared — had they been upon another 
subject. But to attempt to canonise a monarch, 
who, whatever were his household viriues, was 
neither a successful nor a patiiot king, — inas 
much as several years of his reign passed in 
war with America and Ireland, to say nothing 
of the aggression upon France. — like all other 
exaggeration, necessarily begets o]ip()sinon 
In whatever manner he may be spoke n of ii 
this new " Vision," his pvblic career will no- 
D<* more favourably liausmitted by Uitory 



210 



THE VISION OF JUDGMENT. 



Of his private virtues (although a littler expen- 
sive to the nation) there can be no doubt. 

With regard to the supernatural personages 
treated of, I can only say that I know as much 
about them, and (as an honest man) have a 
oetter right to talk of them, than Robert 
Southey. I have also treated them more tole- 
rantly.' The way in which that poor insane 
preature, the Laureate, deals about his judg- 
ments in the next world, is like his own judg- 
ment in this. If it was not completely ludi- 
crous, it would be something worse. I don't 
think that there is much more to say at pre- 
sent. 

QUEVEDO REDIVIVUS. 

P. S. — It is possible that some readers may 
object, in these objectionable times, to the 
freedom with which saints, angels, and spi- 
ritual persons discourse in this " Vision." 
But, for precedents upon such points, I must 
refer him to Fielding's " Journey from this 
World to the next," and to the Visions of my- 
self, the said Quevedo, in Spanish or trans- 
lated. The reader is also requested to observe, 
:hat no doctrinal tenets are insisted upon or 
discussed; that the person of the Deity is 
carefully witliheld from sight, which is more 
than can be said for the Laureate, who hath 
thought proper to make him talk, not " like a 
school divine," but like the unscholariike Mr. 
Southey. The whole action passes on the 
outside of heaven ; and Chaucer's Wife of 
Bath, Pulci's Morgante IVIaggiore, Swift's Tale 
of a Tub, and the other works above refen-ed 
to, are cases in point of the fi'eedom with 
which saints, &c. may be permitted to con- 
verse in works not intended to be serious. 

Q. R. 

*^* Mr. Southey being, as he says, a good 
Christian and vindictive, threatens, I under- 
stand, a reply to this our answer. It is to 
be hoped that his visionaiy faculties will in 
the mean time have acquired a Httle more 
iudg'uent, properly so called: otherwise he 
will get himself into new dilemmas. These 
apostate jacobins furnish rich rejoinders. Let 
him take a specimen. Mr. Southey laudeth 
giievously " one Mr. Landor," who cultivates 
much private renown in the shape of Latin 
verses; and not long ago, the poet laureate 
dedicated to him, it a-ipearelh, one of his 
fugitive lyrics, upon the strength of a poem 
ciillcd (Ttbir. Who could suppose, that in 
diii) s.vno fie' ir the albresaid Savage Landiir^ 



(for such is his grim cognomer.) puttcth inU 
the infernal regions no less a person than the 
hero of his friend Mr. Southey's heaven,— 
yea, even George the Third ! See also hoAH 
personal Savage becometh, when he hath a 
mind. The following is his portrait of oui 
late gracious sovereign : — 

(Prince Gebir having descended into the infernal 
regions, the shades of his royal ancestors ara, 
at his request, called up to bis view; and he ex. 
claims to his ghostly guide) — 

" Aroar, what wretch that nearest us? whatwretcli 
Is that with eyebrows white and slanting brow 
Listen ! him yonder, who, bound down supine, 
Shrinks yeUing from that sword there, engine- 
hung. 
He too amongst my ancestors! I hate 
The despot, but the dastard I despise. 
Was he our countryman?" 

"Alas, O kingrl 
Iberia bore him, but the breed accurst 
Inclement windsblew blighting from north-east 
"He was a warrior then, nor fear' d the gods?* 
" Gebir, he fear'd the demons, not the gods. 
Though them indeed his daily face adored; 
And was no warrior, yet the thousand lives 
Squander' d, as stones to exercise a sling, 
And the tame cruelty and cold caprice — 
Oh madness of mankind! address'd, adored!"— 
Gebir, p. 28. 

I omit noticing some edifying Ithyphallic* 
of Savagius, -wisliing to keep the proper veii 
over them, if his gi-ave but somewhat indiscreet 
worshipper will suffer it; but certainly thesa 
teachers of " gi<iat moral lessons " ai-e apt to 
be found in strange company. 



^!)£ Fiston of gjulrgment 



Saint Peter sat by the celestial gate: 
His keys were rusty, and the lock was dull, 

So little trouble had been given of late ; 
Not that the place by any means was full, 

But since the Gallic era " eighty-eight " 
The devils had ta'en a longer, stronger puU, 

And " a pull altogether," as Uiey say 

At sea — which drew most souls another wajL 



The angels all were singing out of tune. 
And hoarse with having iiitle else to do. 

Excepting to wind u]> the sun and moon, 
Or curb a runaway yiung star or two, 



THE VISION OF JUDGMENT. 



211 



Or wild colt of a comet, wliich too soon 

Y,n,'.ic out of bounds o'er the etiiereal blue, 
Spiilting some planet with its playful tail, 
h.s boats aie sometimes by a wanton whale 

III, 
The guardian seraphs had retired on high. 

Finding their charges past all care below ; 
Tcirestrial business liU'd nought in the sl-y 

Save the recording angel's black bureau ; 
<Mio found, indeed, the facts to multiply 

"SVith such rapidity of vice and woe. 
That he had stripp'd offboth liis wings in quills, 
And yet was in arrcar of human ills. 

IV. 

His business so augmented of late years, 
That he was forced, against his will no doubt, 

(Just like those cherubs, earthly ministers,) 
For some resource t;) turn himself about, 

And claim the help of his celestial peers. 
To aid him ere he should be quite worn out, 

P.V the increased demand for his remarks ; 

biV angels and twelve saints w ere named his 
clerks. 



In the first year of freedom's second dawn' 
Died George the Third ; alttiough no tyrant 
one 

Who shielded tjTants,till each sense withdrawr 
Left him nor mental nor external sun : 

A better farmer ne'er brush'd dew I'rom lawii 
A worse king never left a realm undone I 

Pie died — but left his subjects still behind, 

One half as mad — and t other no less hlijicL 



He died! — his death made no gieat stir on earth, 

His burial made some pomp; there was 

profusion 

Of velvet, gilding, brass, and no great dearth 

Of aught but tears — save those shed by 

collusion. [worth ; 

For these things may be bought at their truo 

01" elegy there was the due infusion — 
Bought also, and the torches, cloaks, and 

banners, 
Heralds, and relics of old Gothic manners. 



This was a handsome board — atleast for heaven ; 

And yet they had even then enough to do. 
So many conquerors' cars were daily driven. 

So many kingdoms tilted up anew ; 
Each day "too slew it^ aiousands six or seven. 

Till at the crow ning carnage, Waterloo, 
Thev threw their pens dowii in divine disgust— 
The'page was so besmear'd with blood and dust. 

VI. 

This by the way ; t is not mine to record 
Whatangels shrink from: even the very devil 

On this occasion his own work abhoir'd. 
So surfei;:ed with the infernal revel : 

Though he himself had sharpen'd every sword, 
-h almost quench'd his innate thirst of evil. 

(Here Satan's sole good work deserves inser- 
tion — 

Tis, that he has both generals in reversion.) 

VII 

let 's skip a few short years of hollow peace. 
Which peopled earth no better, hell as wont, 

And heaven none— they form the tyrant's lease, 
With nothing but new names subscribed 
upon't 

T will one day finish: meantime they increase, 

" With seven heads and ten homs," and all 

in front, Lbora 

Like Saint John's foretold beast; but ours aie 

Less formidable in the bead than horn 



Form'd a sepulchral melodrame. Of all 
The fools who flock'd to swell or see the show 

Who cared about the coi-pse ? The funeral 
Made the attraction, and the black the woe 

There throbb'd not there a thought which 
pierced the pall ; 
And when the gorgeous coffin was laid lo^w 

It seem'd the mockery of hell to fold 

The rottenness of eighty years in go!'' 



So mix his body with the dust ! It might 
Return to what it must far sooner, were 
TLfi natural compound lei't alone to fight 

Tts way back into earth, and fire, and lir 
But the unnatural balsams merely blight 

What nature made him at his birth, as bare 
As the mere million's base unmummied clay- 
Yet all his spices but prolong decay 

XII. 

He 's dead— and upper earth with him has done 
He 's buried ; save the undertaker's bill. 

Or lapidary scrawl, the world is gone 
For him, unless he left a Geiman will : 

But where 's the proctor who will ask his son 
In whom his qualities are reigning still, 

Except that household virtue, most imcomuioB 

Of constancy to a bad, ugly woman, 
p 2 



12 



THE VISION OF JUDGMENT. 



' (^od save tKe liing ! " It is a large economy 

In God to save the like; but il lie will 
Bs saving, all the belter; lor not one am I 
. Cf those who think damnation better still : 
J. hardly know too if not quite alone am I 
In this small hope of bettering future ill 
'3y cirouinscribing, with some slight restriction, 
Vie etei-nity of hell's hot jm-isdiction. 



I know this is unpopular ; I know 

'T is blasphemous ; I know one maybe datnn'd 

For hoping no one else may e'er be so ; 

I know my catechism ; I know we are cramm'd 

With the best doclriaes till we quite o'erfiow; 
I know that all save England's church have 
shamm'd, 

And that the other twice two hundred churches 

And synagogues have made a damn'd bad pur- 
chase. 

XV, 

God help us all! God help me tool I am, 
God knows, as helpless as the devil can wish, 

And not a whit more difficult to damn, 

Than is to bring to land a late-hook'd fish, 

Oi- to the butcher to pm-vey the lamb; 
Not that I 'm tit for such a noble dish, 

As one day will be that immorUd fry 

Of almost every body born to die. 

XVI. 

Saint Peter sat by the celestial gate, 

And nodded o'er his keys; when, lo! thei-e 
came 
A wondrous noise he had not heard of late — 
A rushing sound of wind, and stream, and 
-flxme; 
In short, a roar of things extremely great, 
Which would have made aught save a s4||lt 
exclaim ; 
But he, with first a start and then a wink, 
Said, " There's another star gone out, I think !" 

XVII. 

But ere h-^ could retm-n to his repose, 
A cherub flapp'd his right wing o'er his 
eyes — 
A.Avhicn Saint Peter yawn'd, and rubb'd his 
nose: 
" Saint porter," said the angel, " prithee rise !" 
Waving a goodly wing, which glow'd, as glows 
An carthlv peacock's tail , with heavenly dyes ; 
To which the saint replied, " Well, what 's the 

matter? 
Is Lucifer come back with all this clatter?" 



" No," quoth the cherub; " George the TlurJ 

is dead." [apostle: 

" And who is George the Third?" replied the 

' Tfliat George ? ivhat Third ?" " The king of 

England," said [jostle 

The angel. " Well ! he won't find kings to 

Him on his w'ay; but does he wear his head? 

Because the last we saw here had a tustle, 

And ne'er would have got into heaven's good 

gi-aces, 
Had he not flung his head in all om* faces. 



* He was, if I remember, king of France ;" 
That head of his, which could not keep a 
crown 

On earth, yet ventured in my face to advance 
A claim to those of martyrs — like my own 

If I had had my sword, as I had once 
When I cut ears off, I bad cut. him down ; 

But having but my keys, and not my brand, 

I only knock'd his head from out his hand'. 



* An'I then he set up such a headless howl, 
Ti'iat all the sainis came out and took him 
in ; 

And there he sits by St. Paul, cheek by jowl ; 
That fellow Paul — the parvenu ! The skin 

Of Saint Bartholomew, which makes his cowl 
In heaven, and upon earth redeem'd his sin. 

So as to make a martyr, never sped 

Better than did this weak and wooden head. 



* But had it come up here upon its shoulders, 
There would have been a difl'erent taL? Ui^ j, 
tell: 

The fellow-feeling in the saints beholders ., ■. 
Seems to have acted on them like a spell , 

And so thi.s very foolish head heaven solders 
Back on its trunk: it may be very well. 

And seems the custom hei-e to overthrow 

Whatever has been wisely done below." 



The angel answer'd, " Peter ! do not pout : 
The king who comes has head and all enti/e^ 

And never knew much what it was about — 
He did as doth the puppet — by its wire. 

And will be judged like all the rest, nodoubt: 
My business and your ov.n is not to inqaiit 

Into such matters, but to mind our cue — 

Which is to act as we are bid to do " 



THE VISION OF JUDGMENT. 



213 



Whilo ttms they spake, the angelic caravan, 
Arriving like a rush of mighty wind, 

Cleaving the fiekls of space, as doth the swan 
So7ne silver stream (say Ganges, Nile,orInde, 

Or Thames, or Tweed), and 'midst theiu an 
old man 
With an old soul, and both extremely blind, 

Halted l>efore the gate, and in his shroud 

Seated their lellow-traveller on a cloud. 

XXIV. 

But bringing up the rear of this bright host 
A Spirit of a diiferent aspect waved 

His wings,like thunder-clouds above some coast 
Whose baiTen beach with frequent wrecks 
is paved ; 

His brow was like the deep when tempest-toss'd; 
Fierce and unfathomable thoughts engraved 

F.'temal wrath on his immortal face, 

And where he gazed a gloom pervaded space. 



And from the gate thrown open issued beamin| 
A beautiful and mighty Thing of Light, 

Radiant with glory, like a banner streaming 
Victorious from some woi Id-a'erthrowing 
fight: 

My poor comparisons must needs be teeming 
With earthly likja-sses, for here the night 

Of clay obscures ou- best concepiions, saving 

Joharma Southcote'^, or Bob Southey raving. 

XXIX. 

T was the archangel Michael : all men know 
The make oi: angels and archangels, since 

There 's scarce a scribbler has not one lo snow 
From the fiends' leaderto the angels' prince, 

There also are same altar-pieces, though 
I really can't say that they much evince 

One's inner notions of immortal spirits ; 

But let the connoisseurs explain Iheir merits. 



As he drew near, he gazed upon the gate 
Ne'er to be enter'd more by him or Sin, 

With such a glance of supernatural hate. 
As made Saint Peter wish himself within ; 

He patter'd with his keys at a grea* rate, 
And sweated through his apostoUc skin : 

Of course his perspiiation was but ichor. 

Or some such other spiritual liquor. 



The very chenibs huddled all together. 

Like birds when soai-s the falcon ; and they 
felt 
A tingling to the tip of everj- feather. 

And fonn'd a circle like Orion's belt 

Aromid their poor old charge ; who scarce knew 

whither [dealt 

His guards had led him, though they gently 

With royal manes (for by many stories, 

nd true, we learn the angels are all Tories). 



Michael flew forth in glory and in good ; 

A goodly work of him from wh<im all gloiy 
And good arise ; the portal past — he stood ; 

Before him the young cherubs and saint* 
hoaiy — 
(I say young, begging to be understood 

By looks, not years ; and should be very 
sorry 
To state, they were not older than St. Peter, 
But merely that they seeui'd a little sweeter^^ 

XXXI. 

The cherubs and the saints bow'd down befor* 
That arch-angelic hierarch, the first 

Of essences angelical, who wore 

The aspect of a god ; but this ne'er nursed 

Pride in his heavenly bosom, in whose coie 
No thought, save for his Maker's service, 
durst 

Intrude, however glorified and high ; 

He knew him but the vicercy of the sky 



As things were in this posture, the gate flew 
Asunder, and the flashing of its hinges 

Flung over space an universal hue 

Of many-colour'd flame, until its tinges 

Reach'd even our speck of earth, and made a 
new 
A-^rora borealis spread its fringes 

O'er the North Pole; the same seen, when ice- 
bound, [Sound. "9 

Bf Captain Parry's crew, in "Melville's 



He and the sombre silent Spirit met — 

They knew each other both fc>r good and ilF , 

Such was their power, that neither could foig« 
His fonner friend and future foe ; but still 

There was a high, immortal, proud regret 
In cither's eye, as if 'twere less their will 

Than destiny to make the eternal years 

Their date of war, and their " champ clos '* Um 
spherejs. 



2U 



THE YISIOX OF JUDGMENT. 



But hei'e they -were in neutral space . we know 
From Job, that Satan hath the power to pay 

A heavenjy visit thrice a year or so ; 
And that " the sons of God," like those of 
clay, 

Mast keep him company, and we might show 
From the same book, in how polite a way 

The dialogue is held between the Powers 

Of Good and Evil — but 't would take up hours. 



And this is not a theologic tract, 

To prove with Hebrew and with Arabic, 

If Job be allegory or a fact, 

But a true narrative ; and thus I pick 

From out the whole but such and such an act. 
As sets aside the slightest thought of trick.* 

T is every tittle true, beyond suspicion, 

4nd accm-ate as anv other vision. 



Tiie spirits were in neutral space, before 
The gate of heaven ; like eastern thi-esholds is 

The place where Death's grand cause is ai-gued 
o'er, 
And souls despatch'd to that world or to this ; 

And therefore Michael and the other wore 
A civil aspect : though they did not kiss, 

Yet still between his Dai'kuess and his Bright- 
ness 

There puss'd a mutual glance of gi'cat politeness. 



ith tha . 
V^hat iUi 
Loni?| 



Michael began " What woi^ist thou with tha 
man L\\ 

Now dead, and brought before the 
Hath he wrought since his mortal race began. 

That thou canst claim him? Speak! and da 
thy will. 
If it be just : if in this earthly span 

He hath been gi-eally failing to fulfil 
His duties as a king and mortal, say. 
And he is thine; if not, let him have way." 






" Michael !" replied the Pi-iuce of Air, " evi 
here. 

Before the Gate of him thou servest, must 
I claim my subject: and will make appear 

That as he was my worshipper in dust, 
So shall he be in spirit, although dear 

Totheeand thine, because nor wine nnrloil 
Were of his weaknesses ; yet on the throne 
He reign 'd o'er millions to serve me aioue. 



" Look to £7ir earth, or rather mine , it was, 
Once, more thy master's: but I U'iumphnot 

In this poor planet's conquest; nor, alas ! 
Need he thou servest envy me my lot: 

With all the mpiads of bright worlds whi<^ 
pass 
In worship round him, he may have forgot 

Yon weak creation of such paltiy things : 

I think few worth damnation save their kings,— 



The Archangel bow'd, not like a modem beau, 
But with a graceful oriental bend. 

Pressing one radiant ann just where below 
The heart in good men is supposed to tend. 

He turn'd as to an equal, not too low. 

But kindly ; Satan met his ancient friend 

With more hauteur, as might an old Castilian 

Poor noble mee a mushroom rich civilian. 

XXXVII. 

He merely bent his diabolic brow 

An instant ; and then raising it. he stood 

In act to assert his right or wrong, and show 
Cause why King George by no means could 
or should 

Make out a case to be exempt from woe 
Eternal, more than other kings, endued 

With better sense and hearts, whom history 
mentions, [intentions."" 

Who long have "paved hell with their good 



"And these but as a kind of quit-rent, to 
Assert my right as lord ; and even had 

I such an inclination, *t were (as you 

Well know) superfluous ; they are grown so 
bad. 

That hell has nothing better left to do 
Than leave them to themselves : so muc 
more mad 

And evil by their own internal curee, 

Heaven cannot make them better, nor I worsft 



" Look to the earth, I said, and say again: 
When this old, blind, mad, helpless, weak, 
poor woi-m 
Began in youth's first bloom and flush to reign. 
The world and he both wore a ditierent fonn, 
And much of earth and all the watery plaiii 
Of ocean call'd him king thiough miny i 
storm V 



THE VISIOX OF JUDGMENT. 



215 



His isles had foatecl on the abyss of time; 
For the rough virtues chose ihcm for their clime. 

XLIII. 

" II9 came to his sceptre young , he leaves it 
old: 

Look to the state in which he found his realm, 
And left it ; and his annals too behold, 

How to a minion first he gave the helm ; 
Kow grew upon his heart a thirst for gold, 

The beggar's vice, which can but overwhelm 
The meanest hearts ; and for the rest, but glance 
Thine eye along America and France. 



" 'T is true, he was a tool from first to last 
(I have the workmen safe) ; but as a tool 

So let him be consumed. From out the past 
Of ages, since mankind have known the rule 

Of monarchs — from the bloody rolls amass'd 
Of sin and slaughter — from the Cassars 
school, 

TaVe the worst pupil ; and produce a reign 

More drench'd with gore, more cumber'd with 
the slain. 



' He ever wan-'d with freedom and the free : 
Nations as men, home subjects, foreignfoes, 

So that they utter'd the word ' Liberty !' 
Found George the Third their first opponent. 
Whose 

Histoiy was ever stain'd as his will be 
With national and individual woes ? 

I grant his household abstinence ; I grant 

His neutral virtues,which most monarchs want: 



" I Imow he was a constant consort ; own 
He was a decent sire, and middling lord. 

All this is much, and most upon a throne ; 
As temperance, if at Apicius' board. 

Is more than at an anchorite's supper shown. 
I grant him all the kindest can accord ; 

And this was well for him, but not for those 

Melons who found him what oppression chose. 



XLVIIJ, 

'Five millions of the primitive, wh) hold 
The faith which makes ye great on earth 
implored 

\ part of that vast all they hrld of old,— 
Freedom to worship — not alone your Lord, 

Michael, but you, and you, Saint Peter ! Col4 
Mu.stbe your souls, if youhavenotabhorr'i 

The foe to Catholic participation 

In all the license of a Christian nation. 



" True ! he allow d them to pray God : but as 
A consequence of prayer, refused the law 

Which would have placed them uponthesarae 

base [awe." 

With those who did not hold the saints ij 

But here Saint Peter started from his jilace, 
And cried, " You may the prisoner wiihdniw: 

Ere heaven shall ope her portals to this Guelph, 

While I am guard, may I be damn'd myself! 



' Sooner will T with Cerberus exchange 
My office (and his is no sinecure) 

Than see this royal Bedlam bigot range 

The azure fields of heaven, o<" that be sure!" 

" Saint I " replied Satan, " you do well to avenge 
The wrongs he made your satellites endure ;iJ 

And if to this exchange you should be given, 

I '11 try to coax our Cerberus up to heaven." 



Here Michael interposed . " Goou saint ! and 
devil ! 

Pray, not so fast; you both outrun discretion. 
Saint Peter! you were wont to be more civil- 

Satan ! excuse this wannth of his expression, 
And condescension to the vulgar's level: 

Even saints sometimes forget themselve.s in 
session. [please, 

Have you got more to say? " — " No " — " If yo« 
I '11 trouble you to call your witnesses." 



"The New World shook him ofi", the Old yet 
groans 

Beneath what he and his prepared, if not 
Completed : he leaves heirs on many thrones 

To all his vices, without what begot 
uompassionforhim — his tame virtues ; drones 

Willi sleep, or despots who have now forgot 
t lesson which shall be re-taught them, wake 
Ifpon the thi-ones o' earth ; butletthem quake I 



Then Satan turn d and waved his swarthy hand 
Which stirr'd with its electric qualities 

Clouds farther off than we can understand, 
-Although we find him sometimes in our skies; 

Inferaal thunder shook both sea and lar.d 
In all the planets, and hell's batteries 

Let ofi'the artillery, which Milton mentions 

As one of Satan's most sublime inventions. 



21G 



THE VISION OF JUDGMENT. 



This was a signal unto such damn'd soul* 
As have the privilege of their damnation 

Eitended far beyond the mere conu'ols 

Ol'worlds past, present, or to come; no station 

Is theirs particularly in the rolls 

Of hell assign'd ; but where their inclination 

Or business carries thera in search of game, 

They may range freely — being damn'd the same. 



LTIII. 

Buttake your choice); and tl en it grew a Oond 
And so it was — a cloud of witnesses. 

But such a cloud ! No land e'er saw a ciowd 
Of locusts numerous as the heavens saw these 

They shadow'd with their myriads space; theil 
loud 
And varied cries were likethoseof wild gee* 

(If nations may be liken'd to a goose), 

And realised the phrase of "hell broke loose.' 



They are proud of this — as very well they may, 
It being a sort of knighthood, or gilt key 

Stuck in their loins'3; or like to an "entre" 
Up the back stairs, or such free-masonry. 

{ borrow my comparisons from clay, 

Being clay myself. Let not those spirits be 

Offended with such base low likenesses ; 

We know their posts are nobler far than these. 



Here crash'd a sturdy oath of stout John Bull, 

Who damn'd away his eyes as heretofore: 
There Paddy brogued "By Jasus ! " — " What % 
your wull?" [ghost swore 

The temperate Scot exclaim'd : the French 
In certain tenns I shan't translate in full, 

As the tirst coachman will ; and 'midst the was 
The voice of Jonat'nan was hea^-d to express. 
Our president is going to war, I guess." 



When the gi-eal signal ran from lipaven tohell— 
About ten million times the distance recJr on *d 

From our sun to its earth, as we can tc.i 
How much time it takes i;p, even to a second, 

For every ray that travels to dispel 

The fogs of London, through which, dimly 
beacon' d. 

The weathercocks are gilt some thrice a f^-ax, 

'f that the summer is not toe severe :** 



Besides there were the Spaniard, Dutch, an«i 
Dane; 

In short, an universal shoal of shades, 
From Otaheite's isle to Sahsbury Plain, 

Of all climes and professions, years and trad-^ 
Ready to sweai' against the good king's reign. 

Bitter as clubs in cards are against spades . 
All summon 'd by this gi-and " subpoena," to 
Try if kings may n't be damn'd like me or you. 



I SHj that I can tell — ^"t was half a minute : 
I know the solar beams take up more time 

Ere pack'd up frr their joui'ney, they begin it; 
But then their telegraph is less sublime. 

And if they ran a race, they wouH not win it 
rjiainst Satan's couriers bomid lor their own 
, clime. 

1 e 4un takes up some years for every ray 

1 reach its goal — the devil not half a day. 



Upon the verge of space, about the size 
Of half-a-crown, a little speck appear 'd 

' [ ve seen a something like it in the skies 
In the yEgean, ere a squall) ; it near'd, 

And, growing bigger, took another guise ; 
Like an aerial ship it tack'd, and steer'd. 

Or was steer'd (I am doubtful o" the grammar 

Uf the last phrase, wh<ch makes the stanza 
stammer ;— 



When Michael saw this host, he first grew pale^ 
As angels can ; next, like Italian twilight, 

He turn'd all colom-s — as a peacock's tail. 
Or sunset streaming through a Gothic sky« 
light 

In some old abbey, or a trout not stale. 
Or distant lightning on the horizon by night 

Or a fresh rainbow, or a grand review 

Of thirty regiments in red, green, and blue. 

LXII. 

Then he address'd himself to Satan : " Why — 
My good old Iriend, for such I deem yon, 
though 

Our different parties make us fight so shy, 
I ne'er mistake you for a personal foe ; 

Our difference is political, and I 

Trust that, whatever may occur below, 

You know my gi-eat respect for you : and ihii 

Makes me regret whate'er you do amiss — 



THE VISION OF JUDGMENT. 



217 



LXIII. 

*• "^Tiy, my dear Lucifer, would you abuse 
My call for witnesses ? I did not mean 

That you should half of earth and hell produce; 
'T is even superfluous, since t\Yo honest, 
clean, 

True testimonies are enough: we lose 
Our time, naj, our eternity, between 

The accusation and defence : if we 

Hear both, 't will stretch our immortality." 

I.XIV. 

Satan replied, " To me the matter is 

Ind-ii'erciit, in a personal point of view: 

I can have fifty better souls than this 

With far less trouble than -ftc have gone 
through 

Already ; and I merely argued his 

Late majesty of Britain's case with you 

Upon a point of form • you may dispose 

Of him; I've kings enough below, God 
knows !" 



LXVIII. 

" Sir," replied Michael, "you mistake; Lces« 
things 

Are of a foi-mer life, and wh.it wc do 
Above is more august ; to judge of kings 

Is the tribunal met : so now you know." 
" Then I presume those gentlemen with wings,' 

Said Wilkes, " ai'e cherubs ; and that soa. 

below [mine 

Looks much like George the Third, tut to my 

A good deal older— Bless me ! is be blind?" 

LXIX. 

" He is what you behold him, and his doom 
Depends u])on his deeds," the Angel said. 

" If you have aught to uiTaign in him, the tomli 
Gives license to the humblest beggar's head 

To lift itself against fne loftiest." — ■" Some," 
Said Wilkes, " don't wait to see them laia 
in lead. 

For such a liberty — and I, for one, [sun. 

Htve told them what I thought beneath lh4 



Thus K^poke the Demon (late call'd "multifaced" 
by multo-scribbling Southev). " Then we'll 
call 
One or two persons of the myriads placed 

Around our congress, and dispense with all 

The rest," quoth Michael : " Who may be so 

graced [who shall 

As to speak first ? there 's choice enough-— 

It be ? ' Then Satan aaswer'd, " There are 

many ; [any." 

But you may choose Jack Wilkes as well as 

LXVI. 

A merry, cock-eyed, curious-looking sprite 
Upon the instant started from the throng, 

Dress'd in a fashion now forgotten quite ; 
For all the fashions of the tiesh stick long 

By people in the next world ; where unite 
All tie costumes since Adam's, right oi 
wrong, 

I'Vom Eve s fig-leaf down to the petticoat. 

Almost as scanty, of days less remote 

LXVII 

The lipirit look'd around upon the crowds 
Assembled, and exclaim'd, " My friends o. 
all [clouds ; 

The spheres, we shall catch cold amongst these 
So let's to business : why this general call ? 

U tlwsc are freeholders I see in shrouds. 
And 'tis for an election tliat they bawl. 

Behold a candidate with unturn'd coat ! 

Saint Peter, may I count upon voui- vote?" 



" Ahovt the sun repeat, then, what thou hast 
To urge against him," said the Archangel 
'• Why," 

Replied the spirit, " since old scores are past. 
Must I turn evidence? In faith, not I. 

Besides, I beat him hollow at the last, [sky 
With all his Lords and Commons : in the 

I don't like ripping up old stories, since 

His conduct was but natural in a prince. 

LXXI. 

" Foolish, no doubt, and wicked, to oppress 
A poor unlucky devil without a shilling ; 

But then T blame the man himself much less 
I'him Bute and Grafton, and shall be un- 
willing 

To see him punish'd here for their excess, 
Since they were both damn'd long ago, anrt 
still in 

Their place below, for me, T have fovs'-'en. 

And vote his ' habeas coii)us' into heaven" 

LXXII. 

" "Wilkes," said the Devil, " I understand al] 
this ; 

You tum'd to half a courtier ere jou died,*^ 
And seem to think it would not be amiss 

To gi'ow a whole one on the other side 
Of Charon's feny ; you forget that his 

Reign is concluded ; whatsoe'er betide, 
He won't be sovereign more: you've Insl 

your labour. 
For at the best he will but be your neighbour 



2IS 



THE VISION OF JXJDGME:N^T 



LXXIII. 

■* H;>wever, I Itnew what to think of it, 
When I beheld you in your jesting way, 

Flitting and whispering round about the spit 
"WTiere Belial, upon duty for the day, 

With Fox's lard was basting William Pitt, 
His pupil ; I knew what to think, I say : 

That fellow even in hell breeds farther ills ; 

111 have him gaggd — 'twas one of his own 
bills. 

LXXIV. 

" Call Junius !" From the crowd a shadow 
staik'd. 
And at the name there was a general squeeze, 
So ihut the veiy ghosts no longer walk'd 

In comfort, at their own aerial ease, 
Bat were all ramm'd, and jamm'd (but to be 
balk'd, 
As we shall see), and jostled hands and knees, 
]ake wind compress'd and pent within a 

bladder, 
Dr like a human colic, which is sadder. 

LXXV. 

The shadow came — a tall, thin, grey-hair'd 
figure, 

That look'd as it had been a shade on earth ; 
iiuick in its motions, with an air of vigour, 

But nought to n\ark its breeding or its birtli : 
■Slow it wax'd little, th^n again gi'ew bigger, 

With now an air of gluom, or savage mirth ; 
But as you gazed upon its features, they 
Changed every instant — to tchat, none could 
say. 

LXXVI. 

The more intently the ghosts gazed, the less 
Coul 1 thev distinguish whose the featm-es 
were ; 
The Devil himself seem'd puzzled even to gi.iess ; 
They varied hke a dream — now here, now 
there , 
And. several people swore from out the press. 
They knew him perfectly ; and one could 
swear 
FTf ^as his father, upon which another 
Was sure Is was his mother's cousins brother: 

LXXVII. 

Another, that he was a duke, or knight, 
An orator, a lawyer, or a priest, 

A nabob, a man-midwife '*> : but the wight 
Mysterious changed his countenance at least 

As oft as they their minds : though in full sight 
He stood, the puzzle only was increased ; 

The man was a phantasmagoria in 

H'jnself — he was so volatile and thin. 



The moment that you had pronrnmoed hinri one 
Presto I his face changed, and he was another-^ 

And when that change was hardly well put un, 
It varied, till I don't think his own mothei 

(If that he had a mother) would her son 
Have known, he shifted so from one tr 
t' other ; 

Till gnessing from a pleasure gi*ew a task, 

At this epistolaiy " Iron Mask." •'^ 

I.XXIX, 

For sometimes he like Cerberus would sf-cm — ■ 
" Three gentlemen at once" (as sagely says 

Good Mrs. Malaprop) ; then you might deem 
That he was not even one : now many rnya 

Were flashing round him ; and now a thick 

steam [days : 

Hid him from sight — like fogs on London 

Now Burke, now Tooke, he gi'ew to people' 
fancies. 

And certes often like Sir Philip Francis." 

I.XXX 

I've an hypothesis — 'tis quite my own; 

I never let it out till now, for fear 
Of doing people hann about the throne, 

And injuring some minister or peer. 
On whom the stigma might perhaps be blo^x 

It is — my gentle public, lend thine ear ! 
Tis that what .Junius we are wont to call 
Was really, trult/, nobody at all. 

LXXXI. 

I drn't see wherefore letters should not be 
Written without hands, since we daily view 

Them written without heads ; and books, we 
see, 
Are liird as well without the latter too . 

And really till we fix on somebody 

For certain sure to claim them as his due. 

Their author, like the Niger's mouth, will 
bother 

The world to say if there be mouth or author. 

LXXXII. 

" And who and what art thou ?" the Archangel 
said 
" For that you may consult my title-page,** 
Replied this mighty shadow of a shade . 

" If I have kept my secret half an age, 
I scarce shall tell i now." — " Canst thou r» 
braid," 
Continue' Michael, " George Rex, or allege 
Aught further ?" Junius answer'd, " You hao 

better 
FirsH. ask him for hit answer to my letter- 



THE VISION OF JUDGJ^IEKT. 



219 



LXXXIIl. 

■ My charges upon record will outlast 
The brass of both his epitaph and tomb." 

•• Kepcnt'st thou not," said Michael, " of some 
past 
Exaggeration ? something which may doom 

Thyself if false, as him if true? Thou wast 
Too bitter — is it not so? — in thy gloom 

Of passion ?" — " Passion !" cried the phantom 
dim, 

" I loved my coimtry, and I hated him. 

LXXXIV, 

■* Wliat I have ^\Titten, I have written : let 
The rest be on his hctKl or mine I" So spoke 

Old " Nominis Umbra 19 ;" and while speaking 
Away he melted in celestial smoke. [yet, 

Tlien Satan said to INIichael, " Don't forget 
To call George Washington, and John 
Home Tooke, fheard 

And Franklin ;" — but at this time there was 

A cry for room, though not a phantom stin-'d. 

LXXXV. 

At length with jostling, elbowing, and the aid 
Of cherubim appointed to that post, 

The devil Asmodeus to the circle made 
His way, and look'd as if his journey cost 

Some trouble. When his burden down he laid, 
" What 's this?" cried Michael; " why, 'tis 
not a ghost?" 

•* I know it," quoth the incubus ; " but he 

Shall be one, if you leave the ad'air to me. 

LXXXVI. 

** Confound the renegado ! I have sprain'd 
My left wing, he's so heavy; one would 
think 
Some of his works about his neck were chain d. 
Bu' to the ponit; while hovering o'er the 
brink 
Of Skiddaw (where as usual it still rain'd), 2« 

I saw a taper, far below me, AN^nk, 
A.nd stooping, caught this fellow at a libel- 
No less on history than the Holy Bible. 

LXXXVTI. 

"The former is the devil's scripture, and 
The latter youi's, good Michael ; so the affair 

Belongs to all of us, you understand. 

I snatch'd him up just as you see him there, 

And brought him off for sentence out of hand: 
I 've scarcely been ten minutes in the air — • 

At "east a quarter it can hardly be: 

I dare say that his wife is still at tea." 



LXXXVI II. 

Here Satan said, " I know this man of old, 
And ha\e expected him for some time he.e; 

A sillier fellow you will scarce behold, 
Or more conceited in his pclty sphere' 

But surely it was not worth while tu fohl 
Such trash below your wing, Asmodeus dear, 

We had the poor wretch safe (without being 
bored 

Witli carriage) coming of his own accord. 

LXXXIX. 

" But since he's here, let's see what he has 
done." 
" Done!" cried Asmodeus, "he anticipates 
The very business you are now upon. 

And scribbles as if head clerk to the Fates. 
Who laiows to what his ribaldry may run, 
When such an ass as this, like Balaam's, 
prates ! " 
" Let 's hear," quoth Michael, " what he has 

to say; 
You know we 're bound to that in every way." 

xc. 
Now the bard, glad to get an audience, which 

By no means often was his case below. 
Began to cough, and hawk, and hem, and pitch 

His voice into that awful note of woe 
To all unhappy hearers within reach 

Of poets when the tide of rhyme 's in flow; 
But stuck fast with his first hexameter. 
Not one of all whose gouty feet would stir. 



But ere the spavin'd dactyls cou\l be spiur'd 

Into recitative, in great dismay, 
Both cherubim and seraphim weie heard 

To murmur loudly through their long array; 
And Michael rose ere he coiild get a woi'd 

Of all his founder'd verses under way, 
And crici " For God's sake, stop, my friend 

'twere best — • 
Non I)i, lion Jiouunes — j'ou know the rest.''2i 



A general bustle spread throughout the throng, 

Which seem'd to hold all verse in detestation ; 
The angels had of course enough of song 

When upon service; and the generation 
Of ghosts had heard too much in life, nctloi\g 

Before to jwofit by a new occasion ; 
The monarch, mute till then, exclaim'd, " What! 

23 what! 22 
Pue come again? No more — no more of that'* 



220 



THE VISION OF JUDGMENT. 



XCIII 

The tumult grew; an universal cough 
Convulsed the skies, as during a debate, 

When Castiereagh has been up long enough 
(Before he was first minister of state, 

I mean — the slaves hear now) ; someciied " Off, 
ofl!" 
As at a farce ; till, grown quite desperate 

The bai-d Saint Peter piay'd to interpose 

(liimself an author) only for his prose. 

XCI'. 

The varlet was not an ill-favour'd knave; 

A good deal like a vulture in the face, 
With ahooknosc and a hawk's eye, which gave 

A smart and shaii)er-lookiiig sort of grace 
To liis whole aspect, whi ch, though rather grave, 

SVas by no means so ugly as his case; 
But that indeed was hopeless as can be, 
Quite a poetic felony " de se." 

xcv. 
Then Michael blew bis trump, and still'd the 
nc-ise 
"With one still gi-eater, as is yet the mode 
On earth besides; except som«» gnmibling 
voice, ^ [road 

Which now and then will make a slight in 
Upon decorous silence, few will twice 

Lift up their lungs when fairly overcrowd; 
And now the bard could plead his own bad cause, 
With all the attitudes of self-applause. 



He had sung against all battles, and again 
In their high praise and glory; he liad cail'^ 

Reviewing 24 " the ungentle craft," and then 
Became as base a critic as e'er crawl'd — 

Fed, paid, and pamper'd by the very men 
By whom his muse and morals had beeSi 
maul'd: [prost * 

He had written much blank verse, and blanka 

And more of both than any body knows. 

XCIX. 

He had written Wesley's life : — here tumiug 
round 
To Satan, " Sir, I 'm ready to write yom's. 
In two octavo volumes, nicely bound, 
■ With notes and preface, all that most allurei 
The pious purchaser ; and there 's no gi-oui^d 
For feai-, for I can choose my own reviewers . 
So let me have the proper documents 
That I may add you to my other haints." 



Satan bow'd, and was silent. " Well, if yoa 

With amiable modesty decline 
My otier, what says Michael ? There a^e fev 

Whose memoirs could be render'd mor 
divine. 
Mine is a pen of all work ; not so new 

As it was once, but I would make you shine 
Like your o\\ n trumpet. By the way, my own 
Has more of brass in it, and is as well blown 



He said — (I only give the heads) — hf* said- 
E[e meant no harm in scribbhng; twas his 
way 
Upon all topics; 'twas, besides, his bread, 
Of which he butter'd both sides; 'twould 
delay 
Too long the assembly (he was pleased to dread). 

And take up rather more time than a day, 
To name his works — he would but cite a few — 
*• Wat Tyler " — " Khymes on Blenheim " — 
" Waterloo." 



•• But talking about trumpets,here "s my Vision 
Now you shall judge, all people ; yes, you 
shall 

Judge with my judgment, and by my decision 
Be guided who shall enter heaven or fall. 

I settle all these things by intuition. 

Times piesent, past, to come, heaven, hc'„; 
and all, 

Like king Alfonso.25 W^hen I thus see double 

I save the Deity some worlds of trouble." 



He 1 ad wntten praises of a regicide ; 

Ht hadwruten praises of all kings whatever; 
He had written for republics far and wide, 

And then against them bitterer than ever, 
For pantisocracy he once had cried 

Aloud, scheme less moral than 'twas clever; 
Then grew a heai-ty anti-jacobin — 
Had tiun'd his .,oat — and would have tum'd 
his skin. 



He ceased, and drew forth an MS. ; and no 
Persuasion on the part of devils, or saints, 

Or angels, now coidd stop the torrent : so 
He read the first three lines of the t onteni* 

But at the fourth, the whole spiritual show 
Had vanish'd, with variety of scents, 

Ambrosial and Kulphureo;is, as they sprang, 

Like lightning, off from his " melodiooK 
twang." 26 



THE VISION OF JUDGMENT. 



221 



Those grand heroirs acted as a spell ; 

The angdls stopp'd their ears and plied their 
pinions ; 
The devils ran howling, deafen'd, down to hell ; 

The ghosts tied, gibbering, for their own 
dominions — 
(For 'tis not yet decided where they dwell, 

And I leave every man to his opinions) ; 
Michael took refuge in his trump — but, lo ! 
His teeth were set on edge> he could not blow ! 



Saint I'eter, who has hitherto ocen known 
For an impetuous saint, upraised his keys, 

And at the fifth line knock'd the poet down ; 
Who fell like Phaeton, but more at ease, 

Into his lake, for there he did not drown ; 
A different web being by the Destinies 

Woven for the Lameale's final \\Teath, wheu- 
e'er 

Beform »bali happen either here or there. 



cv. 

He first sank to the bottom — like his works, 
Bi't soon rose to the surface — like himself 

For all coiTupted things are buoy'd like corks,'^ 
By their own rottenness, light as an elf, 

Or wisp that flits o'er a mora^is : he lurks, 
It may be, still, like dull books on a shelf. 

In his own den, to scrawl some *' Life" ot 
" Vision," 

As Walborn says — " the devil turn'd precisian ' 



As for the rest, to come to the conclusion 
Of this true dream, the telescope is gone 

Which Icept my optics free from all dclusiou, 
And show'd me what I in my turn have 
shown ; 

All I saw I'arther, in the last confusion, 
Was, tliat King George slipp'd into hea^eo 
for one ; 

And when the tumult dwindled to a calm, 

I left him praoiisiuj the hundredth psaluL 



©omesttt ^ietcs»-i8i6. 



PARE THEE WELL.l 



Alas ! they have been friends in youth ; 
But vvhisperinir tongues can poison truth | 
And constancy lives in realms above ; 
And life is thorny ; and youth is vain : 
And to be wroth with one we love, 
Doth work lilte madness in the brain j 
« » * » 

But never cither found another 

To free the hollow heart from paining — 

They stood aloof, the scars remaining, 

Like cliffs, which had been rent asunder; 

A dreary sea now Hows between, 

But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder. 

Shall wholly qo away, I ween, 

The marks of that which once hath been." 

Coleridge's Christabel, 



Yet, oh yet, thyself deceive not; 

Love may sink by slow decay, 
But by sudfl^n wi-ench, believe not 

Hearia can thus oe i,^,rn away: 

Still thine ow-n its life retaineth — 

Still must mine, though bleeding, beatj 

And the undying thought which paineti 
Is — that ^ve no more may meet. 

These are words of deeper sorrow 
Than the wail above the dead ; 

Both shall live, but every roorrn«r 
Wake us from a widow" d bed. 

And when thou would solace gather, 
SVhcn our child's first accents flow. 

Wilt thou teach her to say " Father! " 
Though his care she must forego ? 



Fare thee well ; and if for ever, 

Still for ever, fare thee well ; 
Even though unforgiving, never 

'Gainst thee shall my heart rebel. 

Would that breast were bared before thee 
Where thy head so oft hath lain, 

While that placid sleep came o'er thee 
Which thou ne'er canst know again. 

Would that breast, by thee glanced over 
Every inmost thought could show ! 

Then thou wouldst at last discover 
'T was not well to spurn it so. 

Thotigh the world for this commend thee- 
Though it smiles uptm the blov/, 

Even its praises must olTend thee, 
Founded on another's woe : 

Though my many faults defaced me. 
Could no other arm be found, 

Than the arm that once embraced me. 
To inflict a cureless wound ? 



W'hen her little hands shall press thet, 
When her lip to thine is press'd. 

Think of him whose prayer shall blesa 
Think of him thy love had bless'd ! 

Should her lineaments resemble 
Those thou never moi'e may 'si see, 

Then thy heart will softly tremble 
With a pulse yet true to me. 

All my faults perchance thou knowesj, 
All my madness none can know ; 

All my hopes, wheie'er thou goest, 
Wither, yet with Ihee they go. 

Every feeling hath been shaken ; 

Pride, which not a world could bour 
Bows to thee — by thee forsaken, 

Even my soul forsakes me now : 

But 't is done — all words are idle- 
Words from me are vainer still; 

But the thoughts we cannot bridle 
Foi'cc their wav without the wilL— 



DOMESTIC PIECES. 



223 



Fare thee well ! — tlius disunited, 

Torn from every nearer tie, 
Seai-'d in heart, and lone, and blighted, 

More than this I scarce can die. 

March 17, I8I6. 



A SKETCH.* 



" Honest — honest lago ! 
If that thou be'st a devil, I cannot 'kill thee.' 
Shakspeaue. 



jorn in the garret, in the kitchen bred, 
Promoted thence to declc her mistress' head ; 
Kext — tor some gracious service unexpress'cl. 
And from its wages only to be guess' d — 
Raised from the toilet to the table, — where 
Her wondering betters wait behind her chair. 
With eye unmoved, and forehead unabasli'd. 
She dines from off ihe plate she la( sly wash'd. 
Quick with the tale, ftnd ready with the lie — 
The genial confidante, and general spy — 
Who could, ye godsl her next emploj-ment 

guess — 
An only infant's earliest governess! 
She taught the child to read, and taught so well. 
That she herself, by teaching, leam'd to spell. 
An adept next in penmanship she grows. 
As many a nameless slander deftly shows. 
Wliat she had made the pupil of her art. 
None know — but that high Soul seemed the 

heart, 
And panted for the truth it could not hear, 
With longing breast and undeluded ear. 
Foil'd was perversion by that youthful mind. 
Which Flattery fool'd not — Baseless could 

not blind, 
Deceit infect not — near Contagion soil — • 
rndulgeiii.e weaken — nor Example spoil — 
Kor master'd Science tempt her to look down 
On humbler talents with a pitying frown — 
Nor Genius swell — nor Beauty render vain — 
Nor Envy ruffle to retaliate pain — 
Nor lortune change — Pride raise — nor Passion 

bow. 
Nor Virtue teach austerity — till now. 
Serenely purest of her sex that live, 
But wanting one sweet weakness — to forgive,. 
Too shock'd at faults her .soul can neverknow, 
She deems that all could be like her below: 



Foe to all vice, yet hardly Virtue's fn'end, 
For Virtue pardons those she would amend. 

But to the theme : — now laid aside too long, 
The baleful buithen of this honest song — 
Though all her former functions are no more. 
Slit rules the circle which she served before. 
If mothers — none know why — before hci 

quake ; 
If daughters dread her for the mothers sake, 
If early habits — those false links, which bind 
At times the loftiest to the meanest mind — 
Have given her power lou deeply to instil 
The angry essence of her deadly will ; 
If like a snake she steal within your walls. 
Till the black slime betray her as she crawls- 
If like a viper to the heart she wind. 
And leave the vefiom there she did not find ; 
What mai'vcl that this hag of hatred Avorks 
Eternal evil latent as she lurks. 
To make a Pandemonium where she dwells, 
And reign the Hecate of domestic hells? 
Skill'd by a touch to deepen scandal's tints 
With all the kind mendacity of hints. 
While niingling truth with falsehood — sneell 

with smiles — 
A thread of candour with a web of wiles; 
A plain blunt show of briefly-spoken seemiag 
To hide her bloodless heart's soul-haiden 1 

scheming; 
A lip of lies — a face form'd to conceal ; 
And, without feeling, mock at all who feel : 
With a viie mask the Gorgon would disown 
A cheek of parchment — and an eye of stone- 
Mark, how the channels of her yellow blood 
Ooze lo her skin, and stagnate there to mud, 
.Cased like the centipede in saffron mail, 
Or darker greenness of the scorpion's scale— 
For drawn from reptiles only may we trace 
Congenial colours in that soul or face'.' — 
Look on her features I and behold ner mind 
As in a alrror of itself defined . 
Look on the picture! deenr.itnoto'ercharged — 
There is no trait which might noi be enlarged 
Yet true to "Nature's journeymen," who made 
This monster when their mistress left off trade— 
This female dog-star of her little sky, 
V\'here all beneath her influence droop or dia 

Oh ! wretch without a tear — without & 
thought. 
Save joy above the ruin thou hast wrought — 
The time shall come, nor .ong remote, when 

thou 
Shalt feel far more than thou inflictest now ; 
Feel for thy viie self-loving self in vaia. 



224 



DOMESTIC PIECES. 



A.nd turn thee howling in unpitied pain. 
May the strong curse of crush'd affections 

light 
Back on thy hosom with reflected blight! 
And make thee in thy leprosy of mind 
As loathsome to thyself as to mankind! 
Till all thy self-thoughts cvu-dle into hate, 
Black — as thy will for others would create 
"Till thy hard heart be calcined into dust, 
And thy soul welter in its hideous crust. 
Oh, may thy grave be sleepless as the bed, — 
The widow'd couch of fire, that thou hast 

spread ! [with prayer, 

Then, when thou fain wonld'st weary Heaven 
Look on thine earthly victims — and despair ! 
Down to the dust! — and, as thou rott'staway, 
Evenwoi-ms shall perish on thy poisonous clay. 
But for the love I bore, and still must bear. 
To her thy malice from all ties would tear — 
Thy name — thy human name — to every eye 
The climax of all scorn should hang on high. 
Exalted o'er thy less abhorr'd compeers — 
And festering in the infamy of years. 

March 29, 181 6. 



Thoti stood'st, as stands a lovely tree, 
That still unbroke, though gently bent« 

Still waves with fond fidelity 
Its boughs above a monument. 

The winds might rend — the skies might poui 
But there thou wert — and still wouldsl be 

Devoted in Ihe stormiest hour 

To shed thy weeping leaves o'er me. 

But thou and thine shall know no Wight, 
Whatever fate on me may fall ; 

For heaven in sunshine will requite 
The kind — and thee the moot of all. 

Then let the ties of baffled love 

Be broken — thine will never break ; 

Thy heart can feel — but will not move ; 
Thy sold, though soft, will never shiJce. 

And these, when all was lost beside, 

Were found and still are fix'd in thee ;— 

And bearing still a breast so tried, 
Eaith is no desert — ev'n to me 



STANZAS TO AUGUSTA.3 

When all around gre-^- drear and dark. 

And reason half withheld her raj' — _ 
And hope but shed a dying spark 

Which more misled my lonely way ; 
In that deep midnight of the mind, 

And that internal strife of heart. 
When dreading to be deem'd too kind. 

The weak despair — the cold depart ; 

When fortune changed — and love fled far, 
And hatred's shafts tlew thick and fast, 

Thou wert the solitary star 

Which rose, and set not to the last. 

Oh! blest be thine unbroken light! 

That watch'd me as a seraph's eye, 
A ad stood between me and the night, 

For ever shining sweetly nigh. 

iud when the cloud upon us came, 
"^^Tiich strove to blacken o'er thy ray — 

Then purer spread its gentle flame, 
And dash'd the darkness all away. 

Still may thy spirit dwell on mine. 

And teach it what to brave or brook- 
There 's more in one soft word of thine 
Than in the world's defied rebuke 



STANZAS TO AUGUSTA.* 

Thocgh the day of my destiny's over. 

And the star of my fate hath declined, 
Thy soft heart refused to discover 

The faults which so many could find ; 
Though thy soul with my grief was acquainted 

It shrunk not to share it with me. 
And the love which my spirit hath painted 

It never hath found but in ihec. 

Then when nature around me is smilinj?, 

The last smile which answers to mine, 
I do not believe it beguiling, 

Because it reminds me of thiue , 
And when winds are at war with the ocean, 

As the breasts I believed in with me, 
If their billows excite an emotion, 

It is that they bear me from thee. 

Though the rock of my last hope is shiver'd, 

And its fragments are sunk in the wave, 
Though I feel that my soul is delivered 

To pain — it shall not be its slave. 
There is many a pang to pursue me: [(emn-'* 

They may crush, but they shall not coiv 
They may tortui-e, but shall not subdue me— 

Tis of thee that I think — nrt of Uiem. 



DOMESTIC PIECES. 



225 



Though hiiman, tliou didst not deceive me, 

Though woman, thou didst not forsake. 
Though loved, thou l'orl>orest to grieve me, 

Though slander'd, thou never couldst 
shake, — 
Though trusted, thou didst not disclaim me, 

Though parted, it was not to fly. 
Though watchful, 'twas not to defame me, 

Nor. mute, that the world might belie. 

Tet I blame not the world, nor despise it, 

Nor tlie war of the many with one — 
If my soul was not fitted to prize it, 

'Twas folly not sooner to shun: 
And if deai'ly tliat error hath cost me. 

And more than I once could foresee, 
I have found that, whatever it lost we. 

It could not deprive me of thee. 

From the wTeck of the past, which hath pe- 
rish'd, 

Thus much I at least may recall. 
It hath taught me that what I most c' erisbt'd 

Deserved to be dearest of all : 
In the desert a fountain is springing, 

In the wide waste there still is a tiee. 
And a bird in the solitude singing, 

Which sptjaks to my spirit of thee. 

July 24, 1816. 



EPISTLE TO AUGUSTA. 

Mv sister! my sweet sister! if a name 
Dearer and purer were, it should be thine. 
Mountains and seas divide us, but I claim 
No tears, but tenderness to answer mine: 
Go where I will, to me thou art the same — 
A loved regret which I would not resign. 
There yet ai"e two things in my destiny, — 
A world to roam thi-ough, and a home with 
thee. 

The first were nothing — had I still the last, 
1 1 were the haven of my happiness ; 
Hut other claims and other ties thou hast, 
And mine is not the wish to make them less. 
A strange doom h thy father's sons, and 

past 
Recalling, as it lies beyond redress ; 
Reveised lor him our gi'andsire's^ fate of 

yore, — 
He ha»i no rest at sea, nor I on .'»ho7«, 

16 



If my inheritance of stonns hath been 
In other elem«nts, and on the rocks 
Of perils, overlook 'd or unforescf-n, 
I have sustain'd my share of worldly shocks, 
The fault was mine ; nor do I seek to screen 
My errors with defensive paradox; 
I have been cunning in mine overthrow, 
The careful pilot of my proper woe. 

Mme were my feults, and mine be their rewar 
My whole lile was a contest, since the day 
That gave me being, gave me that which mar:' 3 
The gift, — a fate, or will, that walk'd astray ; 
And I at times have foimd the struggle hard. 
And thought of shaking off my bonds of c>ay 
But now I fain would lor a time survive, 
If but to see what next can well arrive. 

Kingdoms and empires in my little day 
I have outlived, and yet I am not eld ; 
And when I look on this, the petty spray 
Of my own yeai's of trouble, which have roll'd 
Like a wild bay of breakers, melts away : 
Something — I know not what — docs stillupbold 
A spirit (f slight patience ; — not in vain. 
Even for its own sake, do we purchase pain. 

Perhaps the workings of defiance stir 
Within me, — or perhaps a cold despair, 
Brought on when ills habitually recur, — 
Perhaps a kinder clime, or purer air, 
(For even to this may change of soul refer, 
And with light annour we may learn to bear,) 
Have taught me a strange quiet, which was not 
The chief companion of a calmer lot 

I feel almost at times as I have felt 

In hajjpy childhood ; tiees, and flowers, and 

brooks, 
Which do remember me of where I dwelt 
Ere my young mind was sacrificed to books, 
Come as of yore upon me, and can melt 
My heart with recognition of their looks ; 
And even at moments I could think I see 
Some living thing to love — but none like thee 

Here are the Alpine landscapes which create 

A fund for contemplation ; — to admire 

Is a brief feeling of a trivial date ; [spire • 

But something worthier do such scenes iu- 

Here to be lonely is not desolate. 

For much I view which I could most desire. 

And, above all, a lake I can behold 

Lovelier, not dearer, than our own of old. 



226 



DOMESTIC PIECES. 



Oh that thou wert but w'ith me ! — but I gi-ow 
The fool of my own wishes, and forget 
'I'he solitude which I have vaunted so 
Has k)st its praise in this but one regret ; 
There maybe otJaers wliich I less may show;— 
I am not of the plaintive mood, and yet 
feel an ebb in my philosophy. 
And the tide rising in my aJter'd eye. 

did remind thee of our own dear Lake.6 
By the old Hall which may be mine no more. 
Leman's is fair; but think not I forsake 
The sweet rememl)rance of a dearer shore : 
Sad havoc Time must with my memory make, 
Ere thai or thou can fade these eyes bei'ore; 
Though, like all things which I 'liave loved, 
tliey are 

Resign' d for ever, or divided far. 

The world is all before me ; I bat ask 
Of Nature that with which she will comply— 
It is but in her summe]-*s sun to bask, 
To mingle with the quiet of her sky, 
To see her gentle face without a mask, 
And never gaze on it with apathy. 
She was my early Iriend, and now shall be 
My sister— till I look again on thee. 

J can reduce all feelings but this one ; 
And that I would not ; — for at length I see 
Such scenes as those wherein my hfe begun 
The earnest — even the only paths for me — ■ 
Had I bat sooner learnt the crowd to shun, 
I had been better than I now can be ; 
The passions which have torn me would hare 
slept ; 
/ had not suffer 'd, and thou hadst not wept. 

With false Ambition what had I to do ? 
Little with Love, and least of all with Fame ; 
And yet they came unsought, and with me grew, 
And made me all which they can make — a 

name. 
Yet this was not the end I did pursue ; 
Surely I once beheld a nobler aim. 
But all is over — I am one the more 

To baffled millions which have gone before. 

And for the future, this world's future may 
Fi-om me demand but little of my care; 
I have outlived myself by many a day; 
Having survived so many things that were ; 
My years have been no slumber, but the prey 
Of ceaseless vigils; for I had the share 
Of life which might have fill'd a centurv, 
Before its fourth in time had pass'd me by. 



And for the remnant which may he to come 
I am content ; and for the past'l I'eel 
Not thankless.— for within the crowdeo sura 
Of struggles, happiness at times would steal, 
And for the present, I would not benumb 
My feelings larther.— Nor shall I conceal 
That with all this I still can look around, 
And worship Nature with a thought profound 

For thee, my own sweet sister, in thy heart 
I know myself secure, as thou in mine ; 
We were and are — I am, even as thou art- 
Beings who ne'er each other can resign ; 
It IS the same, together or apart, 
From life's commencement to its slow decline 
We^ are entwined — let death come slow or fast 
The tiewhich boun/^ the iii-stendm-es the last 



LINES 

CM HEARING TH.\T LADY BVP.ON WAS ILL.' 

Aw D thou wert sad — yet I was not with thee ! 

And thou wert sick, and yet I was not near: 
Methought that joy and health alone could bo 

Where I was no^— and pain and sorrow here. 
And is it thus?— it is as I foretold, 

And shall be more so; for the mind recoils 
Upon itself, and the wreck'd heart lies cold, 

While heaviness collects the shatter'd spoils. 
It is not in the storm nor in the strife 

We feel benumb'd, and wish to be no more. 

But in the atter-silence on the shore, 
When all is lost, except a little life, 

I am too well avenged ! — but 't was my rght; 

Whate'er my sins might be, thou wert not sent 
To be the Nemesis who should requite — 

Nor did Heaven choose so near an instru- 
ment. 
Mercy is {'or the merciful ! — if thou 
Hast been of such, 't will be accorded now. 
Thy nights are banish'd from the realms of 
sleep ! — 

Yes ! they may flatter thee, but thou shall feci 

A hollow agony which will not heal. 
For thou art pillow'd on a curse too deep ; 
Thou hast sown in my sorrow, and must reap 

The bitter harvest in a woe as real ! 
I have had many foes, but none like thee ; 

For 'gainst the rest myself I could defend, 

And be avenged, or turn them into frieaJ; 
But thou in safe implacability 



DOMESTIC PIECES. 



22» 



Hadst nongnl to dread — iii thy own weakness 

shiekicii, f yielded, 

And in my love, which hath but too much 

And spared, tor thy sake, some I should not 

spare — 
nd thus u)x»n the world — trust in thy truth — 
od the wild fame of my ungovern'd youth — 
On things that were not, and on things that 



Even upon such a basis hast thou built 
A monument, whose cement hath been guilt! 
The moral Clytcmnestra of thy lord, 
And hew'd down, with an ui>suspected sword, 
Fame, peace, and hope — and all the better life 
Which, but for this cold treason of thy heart 
Miglitstillhaverisen from outthe grave of strife, 
And found a nobler duty than to part. 
But of t&j vinoes didst ihou m&k« a viae. 



TrafFicking with them ni a pnqiose cold, 

For present anger, and for future gold — 
And buying other's grief at any price. 
And thus once enter'd into crooked ways. 
The early truth, which was thy proper praise, 
Did not still walk beside thee — but at timesif 
And with a breast unknowing its own crimes. 
Deceit, averments incompatible. 
Equivocations, and the thoughts which dwell 

In Janus-spirits — the significant eye 
Which learns to lie with silence — the pretext 
Of Prudence, with advantages anncx'd — 
The acquiescence in all things which tend, 
No matter how, to the desired end — 

All found a place in thy philosophy. 
The means were worthy, and the end is won— 
I would Dot do by thee as thou hast done ! 

^fiktember, lilt. 



#tcafitxinal ^tects. 



FAREWELL! IF EVER FONDEST 

PRAYER. 

Fake well! if erer fondest prayer 

For other's weal avail'd on high, 
Mine will not all be lost in air, 

But waft thy name beyond the sky. 
T were vain to speak, to weep, to sigh : 

Oh ! more than tears of blo«d can teil. 
When wrung from guilt's expiring eye, 

Are in that word — Farewe^*! — Farewdl! 
These lips are mute, these ej ti are dr7; 

But in nay breast and in my brain, ' 
Awake the pangs that pass not i>v. 

The thought that ne'er shall sleep again. 
Mjr Bool nor deigns nor dares complain, 

Though grief and passion there rebel: 
I only know we loved in vain — 

I only feel— Farewell! — Farewell! 



BRIGHT BE THE PLACE OF THY 
SOUL, 
Bbioht be the place of thy soul! 

No lovelier spirit than thine 
E'er burst from its mortal control. 

In the orbs of the blessed to shiao. 
On eai-th thou wert all but divine. 

As thy soul shall immortally be; 
And our soitow may cease to repine, 

When we know that thy God is wiiii thee. 
L,ight be the turf of thy tomb ! 

May its verdure like emeralds be: 
There should not be the shadow of gloom 

In aught that reminds us of thee. 

Toung flowers and an evergreen tree 
May spring from the sjtot of thy rest: 

But nor cypress nor yew let us see; 
F«r why should we mourn for the blest? 



WHEN WE TWO PARTED. 

When we two parted 
In silence and tears 

Half broken-hearted 
To sever for years. 



lie grew thy cheek oud e«9li 

Colder thy kiss; 
Tnily that hour foretold 
Sorrow to this. 

The dew of the morning 

Sunk chill on my brow-"* 
It felt like the warning 

Of what I feel now. 
Tl y vows are all broken. 

And light is thy fame; 
I hear thy name spoken. 

And share in its sbsiBCW 

They name thee before m^ 

A knell to mine ear; 
A shudder comes o'er me«- 

Why wert thou so dearf 
They know not I knew thee. 

Who knew thee too weU:— 
Long, long shall I rue thee. 

Too deeply to tell. 

In secret we met— 

In silence I grieve, 
That thy heart could forget. 

Thy spint deceive. 
If I should meet thee 

After long years, 
How should i greet thecf— 

With silence and tears. 



TO A YOUTHFUL FRIEND. 

Fkw years have pass'd since thou and I 
Were firmest friends, at least in name. 

And childhood's gay sincerity 

Preserved our feelings long the same. 

But now, like me, too well thou know'st 
What trifles oft the heart recall; 

And those who once have loved the most 
Too soon forget they loved at all. 

And such the change the heart displays 
So frail is early friendship's reign, 

A month's brief lapse, perhaps a daj' s, 
Will view ihy 'liind estranged again. 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 



229 



*.* so, it never shall be mine 

To mourn the loss of such a heart ; 

The tault was Naliuc's fault, not thine, 
Which made thee fickle as thou art. 

A", rolls the ocean's changing tide. 
So human feelings ebb and flow ; 

And who would in a breast confide, 
Where stonny passions erer glow ? 

It boots not that, together bred, 

Our childish days were days of joy: 

My spring of life has quickly fled ; 
Thou, too, hast ceased to be a boy. 

And when we bid adieu to youth. 
Slaves to the specious world's control 

We sigh a long Jarewell to truth ; 
That world cormpts the noblest soul. 

Ah, joyous season! when the mind 
Dares all things boldly but to lis ; 

When thought ere spoke is unconfined. 
And sparkles in the placid eye. 

Not so in Man's maturer years. 
When Man himself is but a tool; 

When interest sways our hopes and fean 
And all must love and hat*i by rule. 

With fools in kindred vice the same, 
We learn at length our faults to blend 

And those, and tliose alone, may claim 
'Fhe prostituted name of friend. 

Such is the common lot of man : 

Can we then 'scape from lolly free? 

Can we reverse the general plan, 
Nor be what all in tm"n must be ? 

No ; for myself, so dark my fate 

Through every turn of life hath been ; 

Man and the world so much I hate, 
I care not when I quit th-: ccene. 

But thou, with spirit frail and light, 
Wilt shine awhile, and pass away: 

As glow-worms spaikle through the night, 
B at dare not stand the test of day. 

Alas ! whenever folly calls 

Where parasites and princes meet, 
(For cherish'd first m royal halls, 

The welcome vices kindly greet) 



Ev'n now thou 'it nightly seen to add 
One insect to the fluttering crowd; 

And still thy ti'ifling heart is glad 

To join the vain, and court the prouJ. 

There dost thou glide fi-om fair to fair. 
Still simpering on with eager haste, 

As flies along ihe gay parterre. 

That taint the flowers they scarcely taste 

But say, what nymph will prize the flame 
Which seems, as marshy vapours move. 

To flit along from dame to dame. 
An ignis-fatuus gleam of love ? 

"What friend for thee, howe'er inclined, 
VS^ill deign to own a kindred care ? 

Who will debase his manly mind. 
For friendship every fool may shai*e? 

In time forbear; amidst the throng 
No more so base a thing be seen ; 

No more so idly pass along : 

Be isouiething, any thing, but — mean. 

180k. 



^INES INSCRIBED UPON A CUP 
FORMED FROM A SKULL.8 

Start not — nor deem my spiiit fled: 

In me behold the only skull. 
From which, unlike a living head, 

Whatever flows is never dull. 

I lived, I loved, I quafTd, like thee: 
1 died : let earth my bones resign. 

Fill up — thou canst not iiijure mc; 
The worm hath fouler lips than thine. 

Better to hold the sparkling grape, 

Than nurse the earth-worm's slimy brood. 

And circle in the goblet's shape 

The drink of Gods, than reptile's food- 

Where once my wit, perchance, hath shona 

In aid of others' let me shine; 
And when, alas! our brains are gone. 

What nobler substitute than wine? 

Quaff while thou canst; another race. 
When thou and thine, like me, ai-e sped. 

May rescue thee from earth's embrace, 
And rhyme and revel with the dead. 



230 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 



Why uo — since through life's little day- 
Oar heuds such sad effects produce? 

Re^ieem'd from worms and wasting clay, 
This chance is theirs, to be of -.ise. 

Newstead Abbey, 1808. 



WELL ! THOU ART HAPPY.9 

Well! thou art happy, and I feel 
That I should thus be hapi)y too ; 

For still my heart regards thy weal 
Warnil-y, as it was wont to da 

Thy husband 's blest— and 't will impart 
Some pangs to view his happier lot: 

But let them pass — Oh ! how my heart 
Would hate him if he loved thee not! 

When late I saw thy favourite child, 
I thought my jealous heart would break; 

But when the unconscious infant smilfcd, 
I kiss'd it for its mother's sake. 

I kiss'd it, — and repress'd my sighs. 

Its father in its face to see; 
But then it had its mother's eyes, 

And they were all to love and me. 

Marv, adieu! I must away: 
While thou art blest I '11 not repine; 

But near thee I can never stay ; 
My heart would soon again be thine. 

I deem'd that time, I decm'd that pride 
Had quench'd at length my boyish flame; 

Nor knew, till seated by thy side, 

My heart in all, — save hope, — the same. 

Yet was I calm : I knew the time 

My breast would thrill before thy look; 

But now to tremble VN^ere a crime — 
We met, — and not a nerve was shook. 

I saw thee gaze upon my face, 
Yet meet with no confusion there: 

One only feeling could' st thou trace; 
The sullen calmness of despair. 

A-way! away! my early dream 
Remembrance never must awake: 

On! where is Lethe's fabled stream? 
My .foolish heart, be still, or break. 

November 2, 1808. 



INSCRIPTION ON THE MONUMENT 
OF A NEWFOUNDLAND DOG.iO 

WfiEN some proud son of man returns to eartk, 
Unknown to glory, but upheld by birth, 
The sculptor's art exhausts the pomp of wos. 
And storied urns record whf) rests below ; 
When all is done, upon the tomb is seen, 
N ot what he was , but what he should have beea 
But the poor dog, in life the firmest friend, 
The first to welcome, foremost to defend, 
Whose honest heart is still his master's own, 
W^ho labours, fights, lives, breathes for hia 

alone, 
Unhonour'd falls, unnoticed all his worth, 
Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth: 
While man, vain insect! hopes to be forgiven. 
And claims himself a sole excliusive heaven. 
Oh man ! thou feeble tenant of an hour. 
Debased by slavery, or con-upt by power. 
Who knows thee well must quit thee with 

disgust, 
T>egraded mass of animated dust ! 
Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat. 
Thy smiles hypocrisy, thy words deceit ! 
By nature vile, ennobled but by name, 
Each kindred brute might bid thee blush fo» 

shame. 
Ye ! who perchance behold this simple urn, 
Pass on — it honour's none you wish to mourn 
To mark a friend's remains these stones arise , 
1 never knew but one, — and here he lies. 

Newstead Abbey, November 30, IMft 



TO A LADY, 

ON BEING ASKED MY REASON FOR QtriTTIlf' 
ENGLAND IN THE SPRING. 

When Man, expell'd from Eden's bowers, 
A moment linger'd near the gate, 

Each scene rec;iil'd the vanish'd hours. 
And bade him curse his future fate. 

But wandering on through distant climes, 
He learnt to bear his load of grief ; 

Just gave a sigh to other times, 
And found in busier scenes reliefl 

Thus, lady ! vnll it be with me, 

And 1 must view thy charms no more; 

For, while I finger near to thee, 
I sigh for all I kncAV before. 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 



231 



in Sight I shall be surely wise 
KkCLpiri'^ from temptation's snare , 

I crnnot view ray pai-adije 
Without ihe wish of dwelling there. 

December 2, 1808. 



REMIND ME NOT, REMIND ME NOT 

Rkmind me not, remind me not. 

Of those beloved, those vanish'd hours, 
When all my soul was given to thee; 
Hours that may never be forgot, 
Till time unnerves our vital powers. 
And thou and I shall cease to be. 

I/'an T forget — canst thou forget 

When playing with thy golden hair. 

How ([uick thy fluttering heart did move? 
Oh! by ray soul, I see thee yet. 

With eyes so languid, breast so fair, 
And lips, though silent, breathing love. 

Wlien thus reclining on my breast. 
Those eyes threw back a glance so sweet. 
As half reproach'd yet raised desire, 
4nd still we near and nearer prest. 
And still our glowing hps would meet, 
As if in kisses to expire. 



THERE WAS A TIME, I NEED NOT 
NAME. 

There was a time, I need not naiiie. 

Since it ^v'ill^le'er forgotten be, 
When all our feelings were the same 

As still my soul hath been to thee. 

And from that hour when first thy totigue 
Confess'd a love which equall'd mine, 

Though many a gi'ief my heart hath wrung, 
Unknown and thus unfelt by thine, 

None, none hath sunk so deep as this— 
To think how ail that love hath llown ; 

Transient as every faithless kiss, 
But transient in thy breast alone. 

And yet my heart some solace knew, 
When late I heard tliy lips declare, 

In accents once imagined true. 

Remembrance of the days that were. 

Yes ; my adored, yet most unkind ! 

Though thou wilt never love again. 
To me 'tis doubly sweet to find 

Remembrance of that love remain. 

Yes ! 'tis a glorious thought to me. 

Nor longer shall my soul repine, 
Whate'er thou art or e'er shall be. 

Thou hast been dearly, solely mine. 



4nd then those pensive eyes would close, 
And bid their lids each other seek, 
Veihng the azure orbs below; 
While their long lashes' darken'd gloss 
Seem'd stealing o'er thy brilliant cheek, 
Like raven's phunage smooth'd on snow 

f Ireamt last night our love retum'd, 
And, sooth to say, that very dream 
Was sweeter in its phantasy. 
Than if for other hearts I burnd. 
For eyes that ne'er like thine could b^am 
[i rapture's wild reality. 

Thc^n tell me not, remind me not. 

Of hours which, though for ever gone, 
Oan still a pleasing dream restoj e. 
Till thou and I shall be forgot, 
And senseless as the mouldering stone 
Which *e^s that we shall be no more 



AND WILT THOU WEEP WHEN I 
AM LOW? 

An d -n-ilt thou weep when I am low ? 

Sweet lady ! speak those words again : 
Yet if they grieve thee, say not so — 

I would iiot give that bosom pain. 

My heart is sad, my hopes are gone. 

My blood runs coldly through my breas' 

And when I perish, thou alone 
Wilt sigh above my place of rest. 

And yet, methinks, a gleam of peace 

Doth through my cloud of awguish shinw/ 

And f Dr awhile my soitows cease, 
Tc Enow thy heart hath felt for oiine. 



;32 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 



Oh lady . blessed be that tear- — 
It falls for one who cannot weep : 

Such precio' :s drops are doubly deai- 
To tliose whose eyes no tear may steep. 

Sweet lady ! once my heart was waiTQ 
With every feeling soft as thine ; 
ut beauty's self hath ceased to charm 
A wTctch created to repine. 

Yet wilt thou weep when I am low ? _ 
Sweet lady 1 speak those words again ; 

Yet if they grieve t?*ee, say not so — 
I would not give that bosom pain. 



There we find — do we not?— ii the flow of 

the soul, 
That truth, as of yore, is confine J to the bowl. 

When the box of Pandora was open'd on earth. 
And Misery's triumph commenced over Mirth, 
Hope was left, — was she not ?— but tiic goblet 

we kiss, 
And cai'e not for Hope, who are certain of bliss. 

Long life to the grape ! for when summer ii 

flown, 
The age of our nectar shall gladden our owm 
We must die — who shall not? — May our sinj 

be forgiven, 
And Hebe shall never be idle in heaven. 



FILL THE GOBLET AGAIN. 

A SONG. 

Fii.i- the goblet again! for I never before 
Felt the glow which now gladdens my heart 

to its core ; 
Let us drink! — who would not.* — since, 

through life's varied round, 
In the goblet alone no deception is found. 

I have tried in its turn all that life can supply; 
I havebask'd in the beam of a dark rolling eye; 
I have loved! — who has not? — but what 

heart can declare, 
Thatpleasui-e existed while passion was there ? 

In the days of my youth, when the heart 's in 

its spring, 
And dreams that aiFection can never take wing, 
I had friends !-^who has not? — but what 

tongue will avow, 
That friends, rosy wine ! are so faithful as thou ? 

The heart of a mistress some boy may estrange, 
Piitndship shifts with the sunbeam — thou 

never canst change : 
Thou grow'st old — who does not? — but on 

earth what appears. 
Whose virtues, like thine, still increase with 

its years ? 

Vet if blest to the utmost that love can bestow, 
Sho dd a rival bow down to our idol below. 
We ai-e jealous! — who's not? — thou hast no 
. such alloy ; [enjoy. 

For the more that enjoy thee, the more we 

Then the season of youth and its vanities past 
For refuge we fly to the goblet at last ; 



STANZAS TO A LADY, ON LEAVING 
ENGLAND. 

'Tis done — and shivering in the gale 
The bark unfm-ls her snowy sail ; 
And whistling o'er the bending mast, 
Loud sings on high the fresh'ning blast ; 
And I must from this land be gone, 
Because I cannot love but one. 

But could I be what I have been, 
And could I see what I have seen— 
Could I repose upon the breast 
Which once my wannest wishes blest-*' 
I should not seek another zone 
Because I cannot love but one. 



'Tis long since I beheld that eye 
Which gave me bliss or misery , 
And I have stiiven, but in vain. 
Never to think of it again : 
For though I fly from Albion, 
I still can only love but one. 

As some lone bird, without a mate, 
My weary heart is desolate ; 
I look around, and cannot trace 
One friendly smile or welcome face. 
And ev'n in crowds am still alone. 
Because I carmot love but one. 

And I will cross the whitening foan?, 
And I vvill seek a foreign home ; 
Till I forget a false fair face. 
I ne'er shall find a resting-place ; 
My own dark thoughts I cannot shut 
But ever love, and love but one. 



1 



OCCASIONAL PIECES 



233 



The poorest, veriest wretch on earth 
Still finds some hospitable hearth, 
Where tViendship's or love's softer glow 
May smile in Joy or soothe in woe; 
But iriend or leinan I have none, 
Because I cannot love but one. 

I go — but wheresoe'er I flee, 
Tliere's not an eye will weep for me; 
There's not a k'lid congenial heart. 
Where I can claim the meanest part ; 
Nor thou, who hast my hopes undone, 
Wilt sigh, although I love but one. 

To think of every early scene, 

Of what we are, and what we've been. 

Would whelm some softer heaits with woe— 

But mine, alas I has stood the blow ; 

Yet still beats on as it begun. 

And never truly loves but one. 

And who that dear loved one may be 
Is not for vulgar eyes to see, 
And why that early love \^as crost. 
Thou know'st the best, I feel the most; 
But few that dwell beneath the snn 
Have loved so long, and loved but one. 

I 've tried another's fetters too. 
With charms perchance as fair to view; 
And I would fain have loved as well. 
But some unconquerable spell 
Forbade my bleeding breast to own 
A kindred care for aught but one 

'T would soothe to take one lingering view, 
And bless thee in my last adieu ; 
Yet wish I not those eyes to weep 
For him that wanders o'er the deep ; 
His home, his hope, his youth are gone, 
Yet still he lores, and loves but one. 



But wheresoe'er I now may roflin, 

Through scorching clime, and varied sea. 

Though Time restore me to my home, 
I ne'er shall bend mine eyes ou thee 

On thee, in whom at once conspire. 

All charms which heedless hearts canmo<« 

Whom but to see is to admire, 

And, oh ! forgive the word — to love. 

Forgive the word, in one who ne'er 
With such a word can more offend , 

And since thy heart I .annot share, 
Believe me, what I dm, thy friend. 

And who so cold as look on thee, 
Thou lovely wand'rer, and be less? 

Nor be, v. hat man should ever be. 
The friend of Beauty in disti-ess? 

Ah! who would think that fonn had past 
Through Danger's most destructive path. 

Had braved the death-wing'd tempest's Viajii, 
And 'scaped a tyrants fiercer A\Tath? 

Lady! when I shall view the walls 
Where free Byzantium once arose. 

And Stamboul's Oriental halls 

The Turkish tyrants now enclose ; 

Though mightiest in the lists of fams. 
That glorious city still shall be ; 

On me 't will hold a d^ar-^r claim. 
As spot of thy nativity; 

And though I bid thee now farewell, 
When 1 behold that wondrous scena, 

Since where thou art I may not dwel^, 
'Twill soothe to be, wheie thouhacl b. i* 
Septembf', l<«'* 



TO i?"LORENCE. 

On Lady ! when I left the shore, 

The distant shore which gave me birth, 

* I hardly thought to grieve once more, 

• To quit another spot of earth: 

Vet here, amid this barren isle. 

Where panting Nature droops the head. 
Where only thou art seen to smile, 

I view my parting hoar with dread. 

: Though far from Albin's craggy shore, 
Divided by the dark blue main; 
4 few, brief, rolling, seasons o'er. 
Perchance I view her cliffs again ; 



STANZAS 

COMVOSED DURING A THUNDER-STOftM '* 

Chili, and mirk is the nightly blast. 
Where Pindus' mountains rise, 

And angry clouds are poiuing fast 
The vengeance of the skies. 

Our guides are gone, our hope is lost. 

And lightnings, as they play, 
But show where rocks our path have CToa\ 

Or gild the torrent's spray. 



234 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 



Is yon 3 cot I saw, though low? 

Wh:!n lightning broke the gloom — 
How welcome were its shade I — ah, no 

'T is but a Turkish tomb. 



Through sounds of foaming waterfalls, 

I hear a voice exclaim — 
My way-worn countryinjui, who calls 

On distant England's name 

A shot is fired — by foe or friend ? 

Another — 'tis to tell 
The mountain peasants to descend, 

And lead us where they dwell. 

Oh! who in such a night will dare 

To tempt the wilderness ? 
And who 'mid thunder peals can hear 

Our signal of distress? 

And who that heard our shouts would rise, 

To try the dubious road? 
Sot rather deem from nightly '^ries 

That outlaws v/ere acroad. 

Clouds burst, skies flash, oh, dreadful hour ! 

More fiercely poi\rs the storm ' 
Yet here one thought has still the power 

To keep my bosom waiTn 

While wand'ring through each broken path, 

O'er brake and craggy blow ; 
While elements exhaust their AVTath, 

Sweet Florence, where art thou ? 

Not on the sea, not on the sea, 
Thy bark hath long been gone : 

Oh, nay the storm that pours on me, 
Bow down my head alone 1 

FulJ swiftly Llew the swift Sircc, 

When last I press'd thy lip; 
And long ere now, with foaming shock, 

Impeli'd thy gallant ship 

Now thou art safe; nay, long ere now 

Hast trod the shore of Spain ; 
'T were hard if aught so fair as thou 

Should lingt.'' on the main. 

And since I now remember thee 

In darkness and in dread. 
As in those hours of revelry 

Which mirth and music sped ; 



Do thou, amid the fair wiJte walls 

If Cadiz yet be free. 
At times from out her latticed hali». 

Look o'er the dark blue sea ; 

Then think upon Calypso's isles, 

Endcar'd by days gone by; 
To others give a thousand smiles 

To me a single sigh. 

And when the admiring circle mark 

The paleness of thy face, 
A half-form'd teai-, a transient spark 

Of melancholy gi'ace, 

Again thou 'It smile, and blushing shun 

Some coxcomb's raillery; 
Nor own for once thou thought's! on ono, 

"V^Tio ever thinks on thee. 

Though smile and sigh alike are vain, 

When sever'd hearts repine. 
My spirit flies o'er mount and main. 

And mourns in seai-ch of thine. 



STANZAS 

WKITTEN IN PASSIXG THE AMBRACIAM 
GULF. 

Through cloudless skies, in silvery sheen, 
F'uU beams the moon on Actium's coast; 

And on these waves, for Egypt's queen. 
The ancient world was won and lost. 

And now upon the scene I look, 

The azure grave of many a Roman ; 

Where stern Ambition once forsook 
His wavering crown to follow woman. 

Florence! whom I will love as well 

As ever yet was said or sung, 
(Since Orpheus sang his spouse from hell) 

Whilst thou ai-t fair and I am young; 

Sweet Florence ! those were pleasant times, 
When worlds were staked for ladies' eyes. 

Had bards as many realms as rhymes. 
Thy charms might raise new Antonies. 

Though fate forbids such things to be 
Yet, by thine eyes and ringlets curi'd! 

I cannot lose a world for thee. 

But would not lose thee for a world. 

November U, i80<k 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 



235 



STANZAS. 

Do we not hear that youth is happiness — 

That all our alter lite can bring but pain? 
That all (ieliuhts that can our being bless, 

When youth is o'er will ne'er return again? 

Then ii'this giowingiiine bat yield us b<me. 
We must herealter look to misery! 

Ami we must see our years and pleasures 
■wane, 
While.con>tant scalding tears do swell our eye. 

An J only pray to heaven that we may quickly 
die. 

is this the life we cling to? This existence, 

For which we'd sacrifice our honest lame? 
I'd rather shun, than labour tor subsistence, 

If this be all my toil and grief can claim. 

Oh ! let nje sink, at least, unstaia'd with 
shame, 
ind let mo die in hopeless anguish now, 

And blank oblivion mantle o'ermy name, 
father than son-ow trace upon my brow 

The year on year in which my age and 
suffering grow ! 



ODE. 

Oh, shame to thee, land of the Gaul ! 
Oh, shame to thy children and thee, 
Unwise in thy glory, and base in thy fall, 
How wretched thy portion shall be ; 
Derision shall strike thee forlorn, 
A mockery that never shall die ; 
The curses of Hate and the hisses of Scorn 

Shall burden the winds of thy sky ; 
And proud o'er thy ruin, ior ever be hurl'd 
The laughter of Triumph, the jeers of the 
World. 
Oh, where is thy spirit of yore, 

'Ihe spirit that breathed in thy dead. 

When gallantry's star was the beacon before, 

And honour the passion that led ? 

Thy storms have awaken'd their sleep. 

'i'hcy groan from the place of their rest, 

^ni' vraihluUy muruiur, and sullenly weep, 

To see the foul stain on thy breast ; 
For where is the glory thev lefttnee in trust? 
TUscHller'd in darkness, 'tis trampled in dust. 

Go. look through the kingdoms of earth, 
From Indus all round to the pole, 
hni something of goodness, of honour, and 
worth. 
Sb*U brighten the sins of the soul ; 



Bet thou art alone in thy stAme, 
The world cannot liken thee there ; 
Abhorrence and vice have disfigured thynam« 

Beyond the low reach of compare ; 
Stupendous in guilt, thou shalt lend us through 

time 
A proverb, a by-word, for treachery and crime 

While conquest illumined his sword. 
W'hile yet in his jjrowess he stood. 
Thy praises still foUow'd the steps of thy 
Lord, 
And welcomed the torrent of blood ; 
Though Tyrauny sat ou his crown. 
And wiiher'd the nations afar, 
Yet bright in thy view was that Despot's 
renown, 
'Till Fortune deserted his car ; , 

Then, back from the Chieftain thou slunkeat 

away — 
The foremost to insult, the first to betray 

Forgot were the feats he had done, 
The toils he had borne in thy cause ; 
Thou turned' st to worship a new rising sun. 
And waft other songs of applause : 
But the storm was beginning to lour, 
Adversity clouded his beam ; 
And honour and faith were the brag of an 
hour. 
And loyalty's self but a dream : 
To him thou hadst banish'd thy vows were 

restored, 
And the first that had scoff'd were the first 
that adored. 

What tumult thus burdens the air? 

What throng thus encircles his throne? 
'Tis the shout of delight, 'tis the millions that 
swear 
His sceptre shall rule them alone. 
Reverses shall brighten their zeal. 
Misfortune shall hallow his name. 
And the world that pursues him shall mourn- 
fully feel 
How quenchless the spirit and flame 
That Frenchmen will breathe, when their 

hearts are on fire, 
For the Hero they love, and the Chief they 
admire. 

Their Hero has rush'd to the field : 
His laurels are cover'd with shade. 
But where is the spirit that never ibotiU 
yield, 
The loyiUty never to fade ? 



236 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 



In a moment desertion and guile 
Abandon'd him up to the foe ; 
The dastards that flourish'd and grew at his 
smile, 
Forsook and renounced him in woe; 
And the millions that swore they would perish 

to save, 
£ iiold him a fugitive, captive, and slave. 

The savage all wild in his glen 
Is nobler and betier than thou ; 
Thou siandest a wonder, a marvel to men, 
Such perfidy blackens thy brow. 
If thou wert the place of my birth, 
At once from thy arms would I sever; 
I 'd fly to the uttermost ends of the earth, 

And quit thee for ever and ever ; 
And thinking of thee in my long after years, 
Should but kindle my blushes and waken my 
tears. 

Oh, shame to thee, land of the Gaul ! 
Oh, shame to thy children and thee ! 
Unwise in thy glory, and base in thy fall, 
How wretched thy portion shall be! 
Derision shall strike thee forlorn, 
A mockery that never shall die ; 
The curses of Hate and the hisses of Scorn 

Shall burden the winds of thy sky ; 
And proud o'er thy ruin for ever be hurl'd 
The laughter of Triumph, the jeers cf the 
World. 



MADAME LAVALETTE. 

Lbt Edinburgh Critics o'erwhelm with their 
praises 
Their Madame de Stael, and their famed 
La Pinasse : 
Like a meteor, at best, proud philosophy blazes. 
And the fame of a Wit is as brittle as glass: 
But cheering the beam, and unfading the 
splendour 
Of thy torch, Wedded Love ! and it never 
has yet 
Shone with lustre more holy, more pure, or 
more tender, 
Than it sheds on the name of the fair Lava- 
Islte. 

Then fill high the wine-cup, e'en Virtue shall 
bless it, 
And hallow the goblet which foams to her 
name; 
The warm lip of Beauty shall piously press it, 
And Hymen shall honour the pledge to her 
Ikme: 



To the health of the Woman, who ffeeflm'^ 

and life too 
Has ribk'd for her Husband, we '11 pay the 
just debt. 
And hail with applauses the Heiojue a'd 
Wife too. 
The constant, the noble, the fair Lavalelt^ 

Her foes have awarded, in impotent malice, 
To their captive a doom which all Europe 
abhors. 
And turns from the slaves of the priest- 
haunted palace. 
While those who replaced them there blush 
for their cause. 
But, in ages to come, when the blood-taniish'd 
glory 
Of dukes and of marshals in darkness hath 
set. 
Hearts shall throb, eyes shall glisten, at reading 
the story 
Of the fond self-devotion of fair Lavaleiie. 



FAREWELL TO ENGLAND. 

Oh I land of my fathers and mine, 
The noblest, the best, and the bravest ; 

Heart-broken, and lorn, I resign 

The joys and the hopes which thou gavesA- 

Dear mother of Freedom ! farewell ! 

Even Freedom is irksome to me ; 
Be calm, throbbing heart, nor rebel. 

For reason approves the decree. 

Did I 1-ove? — Be my witness, high Heaveal 
That mark'd all my frailties and fears; -- 

I adored — but the magic is riven ; A 

Be the memory expunged by my teai's! 

The moment of rapture, how bright ! 

How dazzling, how transient its glare ' 
A comet in splendour and flight, 

Tke herald of darkness and care. 

Becollections of tenderness gone. 

Of pleasure no more to return ; 
A wanderer, an outcast, alone. 

Oh ! leave me, untortured, to mourn. 

Where — where shall my heart find repOM 
A refuge fiom memory and grief! 

The gangrene, wherever it goes, 
Pisdains a fiLiiiions reli ^f. 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 



23; 



Could I trace out that fabulous stream, 
Which washes remembriuice away, 

Agiin might the eye of Hope gleam 
The dawn of a happier day. 

Hath wir.»' an oblivious power? 

Can it pJiick out the sling from the brain ? 
The drau.s^ht might beguile for an hour, 

But still leaves behind it the pain. 

^an distance or time heal the heart 
That bleeds from the i'.inermost pore? 

Or intemperance lessen its smart. 
Or a cerate apply J its sore ? 

If I rush to the ultimate pole. 

The foi-m I adore will be there, 
k phantom to torture my soul, 

And mock at my bootless despair. 

The zephyr of eve, as it flies, 

Will whisper her voice in mine ear, 

t.ad, moist with her .sorrows and sighs. 
Demand for Love's altar a tear. 

And still in the dreams of the day. 
And still in the visions of night, 

Will fancy her beauties display, 
Disordering, deceiving the sight. 

Hence, rain fleeting images, hence ! 

Grim phantoms that "wilder my brain. 
Mere frauds upon reason and sense, 

Eugender'd by folly and paiu ! 

Did I swear on the altar of Heaven 

My fealty to her I adored ? 
■^id she give back the vows I had given, 

And plight back the plight of her lord ? 

if I err'd for a moment from love. 

The error I flew to retrieve ; 
yjss'd the heart I had wounded, and strova 

To soothe, ere it ventured to grieve. 

Did I bend, who had ne'er bent before? 

Did I sue, who was used to command? 
Love forced me to weep ani^ implore, 

And pride was too weak to withstand. 

Then why should one frailly, like mine. 
Repented, and wash'd with my tears, 

Erase those impressions divine, 
The faith and affection of years ? 



Was it well, between anger and love. 
That pride the stern umpire should M ; 

And that heart should its tiintiness piova 
On none, till it proved it on me f 

And, ah! was it well, when T knelt. 

Thy tenderness so to conceal. 
That witnessing all which I felt. 

Thy sternness forbad thee to feel. 

Then, when the dear pledge of our love 
Look'd up to her mother and smiled. 

Say, was there no impulse that strove 
To back the aj'peal of the child ? 

That boson, so callous and chill. 
So treacherous to love and to me : 

Ah ! felt it no heart-rending thrill, 

As it turn'd from the innocent's plea ? 

That ear, which was open to all, 
Was ruthlessly closed to its lord ; 

Those accents, whicn fiends would enthral, 
Refused a sweet peace-giving word. 

And think st thou, dear object, — for still 
To my bosom thou only art life. 

And spite of my pride and my will, 
I bless thee, I woo thee, my wife ! 

Oh ! think' sf thou that absence shall bring 
The balm which will give thee relief? 

Or time, on its life-wasting wing. 
An antidote yield for thy grief? 

Thy hopes will be frail as the dream 

Which cheats the long moments of nigh^ 

But melts in the glare of the beam 
Which breaks from the portal of light; 

For when on thy babe's smiling face 
Thy features and mine intertwined 

The finger of Fancy shall trace. 
The spell shall resistlessly bind. 

The dimple that dwells on her cheek. 
The glances that beam from her eye, 

The lisp as she struggles to speaK, 
Shall dash every smile with a sigh. 

Then I, though whole oceans between 
Their billowy barriers may rear, 

Shall triumph, though far and unseen, 
Unconscious, uncall'd, shall be there 



238 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 



The cruelty sprang not from thee, 
"Twas foreign and foul to thy heart. 

That levell'd its arrow at me, 
And fix'd the incurable smart. 



I ask it — I seek it — ^in vain — 

From Ind to the northernmost pol« 

Unheeded — unpiiied — complain, 
And pour out the gi'ief of my souL 



Ah, no! 'twas another than thine 
The hand which assail'd my repose ; 

It struck — and too falaliy — mine 

The wound, and its offspring of woes. 

They hated us both who destroy'd 
The bads and the promise of Spring; 

For who, to replenish the void, 

New ties, new affections can bring? 

Alas ! to the heart that is rent 

What nostrums can soundness restore? 
Or M'hat, to the bow over-bent, 

The spring which it cawied before? 

The rent heart will fester and bleed, 
And fade like the leaf in the blast ; 

The crack'd yew no more will recede, 
Though vigorous and tough to the last 

I wander — it matters not where; 

No clime can restore me my peace, 
Or snatch from the frown of despair, 

A cheering — a fleeting release ! 

How slowly the moments will move ! 

How tedious the footsteps of years ! 
When valley and mountain and grove 

Shall change but the scene of my tears. 

The classic memorials which nod, 
The spot dear to science and lore. 

Sarcophagus, temple, and sod, 
Excite me and ravish no more. 

The stork on the perishing wall 
Is better and happier than I; 

Content in his ivy-built hall ; 
Ho hangs out his home in the sky. 

But houseless and heartless I rove, 
My bosom all bared to ihe wind, 

i'he victhn of pride and of love, 

I seek — but, ah ! where can I find? 

I seek what no tribes can bestow— 
I ask what no clime can impart — 

A charm which can neutralise woe, 
And dry up tiie tears of the heart 



What bosom shall heave when I sigh T 
What tears shall respond when I weep? 

To ray wailings what wail shall reply? 
Wliat eye mark the vigijs 1 keep? 

Even thou, as thou learnest to prate, 
Dear babe — while remotely 1 rove^ 

Shall count it a duty to hate 

Where nature commands thee to lem. 

The foul tongue of malice shall peal 
My vices, my faults, in thine ear. 

And teach thee, with demon-like zeaJ, 
A father's affection to fear. 

And oh ! if in some distant day 

Thine ear may be struck with my lyre, 

And nature's true index may say, 
" It may be — it must be my sire I" 

Perchance to thy prejudiced eye 
Obnoxious my form may appear. 

Even nature be deaf to my sigh, 
And duty refuse me a tear. 

Yet sure in this isle, where my songs 
Have echoed from mountain and dell. 

Some tongue the sad tale of my wrongs 
With grateful emotion may tell. 

Some youtn, who had valued my lay. 
And warm'd o'er the tale as it ran. 

To thee e'en may venture to say, 
" His frailties were those of a man. ' 

They were ; they were human, but sweffi 
By envy, and malice, and scorn. 

Each feeling of nature rebell'd, 
And hated the mask it had worn. 

Though human the fault — how severe, 

How harsh the stern sentence pronouUje^^ 

E'en pride dropp'd a niggardly tear, 
My love as it grimly denounced. 

T is past: the great strc^ggle is c cr; 

The war of my bosom subsides ; 
And passion's strong current no mora 

Impels its impetuous tides. 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 



239 



T is past : my affections give way ; 

The tics of iny nature are broke; 
The summons of pride I obey, 

And break Love"s degenerate yoke. 

I dy, like a bird of the air, 

In search of a home and a rest; 

A balm for the sickness of care, 
A bliss for a bosom unblesU 

And swift as the swallow that floats, 
And bold as the eagle that soars. 

Yet dull as the owlet, whose notes 
The dark fiend of midnight deplores ' 

Where gleam the gay splendours of East, 
The dance and the bountiful board, 

I '11 bear me to Luxury's feast, 
To exile the form I adored. 

In full brimming goblets I '11 quaff 
The sweets of the Lethean spring, 

And join in the Bacchanal's laugh, 
And trip in the fairy-lbrm'd ring. 

Where pleasure invites will I roam, 
To drown the dull memory of care, 

An exile from hope and from home, 
A fugitive chased by despair. 

Farewell to thee, land of the brave I 
Farew ell to thee, land of my birth ! 

When tempests around thee shall rave, 
Still — still may they homage thy worth ! 

Wife, infant, and country, and friend, 
Ye wizard my fancy no more, 

I fly from your solace, and wend 
To weep on some kindlier shore. 

The grim-visaged fiend of the storm 
'fhat raves in this agonized breast, 

Still raises his pestilent form. 

Till Death calm the tumult to rest. 



TO MY DAUGHTER, 

OV THK MORNING OP HER BIRTH. 

Hail to this teeming stage of strife ! 
Hail, lovely miniature of life! 
Pilgrim of many cares untold! 
Lamb of the world's extended fold ! 
Fountain of hopes, and doubts, and fear 
Sweet promise of ecstatic years ! 



How could I fainly bend ±e kne«. 
And turn idolater to thee I 

*T is nature's worship — felt — confesfj'rt, 
Far as the life which warms the breast: 
The sturdy savage, 'midst his clan. 
The rudest portraiture of man. 
In trackless woods and bo-mdless plaint, 
\Miere everlasting wildness reigns, 
Owns the still throb — the secret stait— 
The hidden impulse of the heart. 

Dear babe ! ere yet upon thy years 
The soil of human vice appears, 
Ere passion hath dis^turb'd thy cheek. 
And prompted what thou darest not speak. 
Ere that pale lip is blanch'd with care, 
Or from those eyes shoot fierce despair. 
Would I could wake ihy untuned ear. 
And gust it with a father's prayer. 

But little reck'st thou, oh my child ; 
Of travail on life's thorny wild! 
Of all the dangers, all tlie woes, 
Each tottering footstep which enclose; 
Ah, little reck'st thou of the scene 
So darkly wrought, that spreads between 
The little all we here can find. 
And the dark mystic sphere behind ! 

Little reck'st thou, my earliest born, 
Of clouds which gather round thy mora. 
Of arts to lure thy soul astray. 
Of snares that intersect thy wav. 
Of secret foes, of friends untrue. 
Of fiends WHO stab the hearts they woo- 
Little thou reck'st of this sad store — 
Would thou might'st never reck them vuoT9 

But thou wilt burst this transient sleep. 

And thou wilt wake, my babe, to weep; 

The tenant of a frail abode. 

Thy tears must flow as mine have flow'd; 

Beguiled by follies every day. 

Sorrow must wash the faults away, 

And thou may"st wake perchance to proT5 

The pang of unrequited love. 

Unconscious babe, though tn that brow 
No half-fledged misery nestles now, 
Scarce round thy placid lips a smile 
Maternal fondness shall beguile, 
Ere the moist footsteps of a tear 
Shall plant their dewy traces there. 
And prematurely pave the iray 
For soiTows of a riper day. 



240 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 



Oh ! could a father's prayer repel 

The eye's sad grief, the bosom's swell ; 

Or could a father hope to bear 

A darling child's allotted care, 

Then thou, my babe, shonldst slumber still, 

Exempted from all human ill, — 

A parent's love thy peace should free, 

ind ask its wounds again for thse. 

Sleep on, my child ; the slumber brief 
Too soon shall melt away to grief. 
Too soon the dawn of woe shall break, 
And briny rills bedew that cheek; 
Too soon" shall sadness quench those eyes, 
That breast be agonized with sighs, 
And anguish o'er the beams of noon 
Lead clouds of care, — ah, much too soon ! 

Soon wilt thou reck of cares unknc^n. 
Of wants and sorrows all their own ; 
Of many a pang and many a woe, 
That thy dear sex alone can know; 
Of many an ill, untold, unsung, 
That will not — may not find a tongue, 
But kept conceal'd without control, 
Spread the fell cancers of the soul. 

Yet be thy lot, my babe, more blest, 
May joy still animate thy breast; 
Still, midst thy least propitious days, 
Shedding its rich inspiring rays ; 
A father's heart shall daily bear 
Thy name upon its secret prayer, 
And as he seeks his last repose. 
Thine image ease life's parting throes. 

Then hail, sweet miniature of life • 
Hail to this teeming stage of strife ! 
Pilgrim of many cares untold! 
Lamb of the world's extended fold : 
Fountain of hopes and doubts and fears . 
Sweet promise of ecstatic years I 
How '^ould I fainly bend the knee. 
And turn idolater to thee ! 



ODE 
THE ISLAND OF ST. HELENA. 



Rich shall the chaplet be history shall weaT 

thee ; [brov> 

Whose undying verdure shall bloom on tlij 

WV en nations that now in obscurity leave thee 

To the wand of oblivion alternately bow ! 
Unchanged in thy glory — unstain'd in thj 

fame. 
The homage of ages shall hallow thy name. 

Hail to the Chief who reposes 

On thee the rich weight of his glory! 
When fill'd to its limit, life's chronicle 
closes, 
His deeds shall be sacred in story ! 
His prowess shall rank A'ith the fsrst of all 
ages, r^'^rth— ' 

And monarchs hereafter shall bow to his 
The si>ngs of the poets — the lessons of sages 
Shall hold him the wonder and grace of the 
earth. 
The meteors of history before thee shall fall, 
Eclipsed by thy splendour, thou meteor of 
Gaul. 

Hygeian breezes shall fan thee, 

Island of glory resplendent! 
Pilgrims from nations far distant shall man 
thee. 
Tribes, as thy waves, independent! 
On thy far-gleaming strand the wanderer shali 
stay him, [nown'd 

To snatch a brief glance at a spot so re- 
Each turf, and each stone, and each cliff shall 
delay him, [thy ground! 

Where the step of thy Exile hath hallow'd 
From him shalt thou borrow a lustre divine. 
The wane of his sun was the rising of thine, 

Whose were the hands that enslaved hip: » 
Hands which had weakly withstood him— 
Nations which, while they had oftentimes 
braved him, 
Never till now had subdued him ! 
Monarchs, who oft to his clemency stooping 
Received back their crowns from the plun- 
der of war — [droopinft 
The vanquisher vanquish'd, the eagle uofW 
Would quench with their sternness the raj 
of his star , 
But clothed 'n newsplendourthe glory appears, 
And rules the ascendant, the planet of years, 

? ACE to thee, isle of the ocean ! Pure be the health of thy mountains ' 

Hail to thy breezes and billows! Rich be the green of thy pastures ! 

^ here, rolling its tides in perpetual devo. Limpid and lasting the streams of thy fouik 

tion, tains 

rhe white wave its plumy surf pillows! Thine annals unstain'd by disasters. 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 



241 



Suprcine in the ocean a rich altar swelling, 
Whose shrine shall be hail'd by the prayers 
of mankind — [ing— 

Thy rock-beach the rage of the tempest repell- 
The wide-wasting contest of wave and of 
wind — 
AU)ft on tVy biUlcffisnts long be unfarl'd 
The eagle tviat decks thee, the pride of the 
world. 

Fade shall the lily now blooming : 

Where is the hand which can nurse it ? 
Nations who rear'd it shall watch its con- 
suming. 
Untimely mildews shall curse it. 
Then shall the violet that blooms in the valleys 

Impart to the gale its reviving perfume ; 
Then when the spirit of Liberty rallies, 
To chant forth its anthems on Tyranny's 
tomb, [break forth. 

Wide Europe shall fear lest thy star should 
Eclipsing the pestilent orbs of the north. 



TO THE LILY OF FRANCE. 

Ere thou scatterest thy leaf to the wind, 
False emblem of innocence, stay, 

And yield, as thou fadest, for the use of man- 
kind, 
The lesson that marks thy decay. 

Thou wert fair as the beam of the mom, 
And rich as the pride of the mine : 

Thy charms ai'e ail faded, and hatred and 
scorn, 
The curses of freedom, are thine. 

Thou wert gay in the smiles of the world, 
'i'hy shadow protection and power, 

But now thy bright blossom is shrivel'd and 
cuil'd. 
The grace of thy country no more. 

Por Con-uption hath fed on thy leaf. 
And Bigotry weaken'd thy stem ; 

Now tliose who have fear'd thee shall smile 
at thy grief, 
And those who adored thee condemn. 

The valley that gave thee thy birth. 
Shall weep for the hope of its soil ; 

The legions tiat fought for thy beauty and 
worth, 
Shall hasten to share ii thy spoil. 



As a by-word, thy blossom shall be 

A mock and a jest among men. 
The proverb of slaves, and the sneer of Um 
free, 

In city, and mountain, and glen. 

Oh ! *t was Tyranny's pestilent gale 
That scatter'd thy buds on the ground, 

That threw the blood-stain on thy vi)gin-whit» 
veil. 
And /lierced thee with many a wound . 

Then thy puny leaf shook to the wind. 
Thy stem gave its strength to the blast. 

Thy full bursting blossom its promise resign'd 
And fell to the storm as it pass'd. 

For no patriot rigour was there. 
No arm to support the weak flower. 

Destruction pursued its dark herald — Despair 
And wither'd its grace in an hour. 

Yet there were who pretended to gi-ieve. 
There were who pretended to save. 

Mere shallow empyrics, who came to deceir*. 
To revel and sport on its grave. 

U thou land of the lily, in vain 

Thou stnigglest to raise its pale head I 

The faded bud never shall blossom again, 
The violet will bloom in its stead. 

As. Ihou scatterest thy leaf to the wind, 
False emblem of innocence, stay. 

And yield, as thou fadest, for the useof uiH^ 
kind, 
This '.3sson to mark thy decay ! 



17 



TO JESSY. 

THE FOLLOWING STANZAS WERE AnnS8SRSA 
BY LORD BYRON TO HIS LADY, A PEW 
MONTHS BEFORE THEIR SEPARATION. 

There is a mystic thread of life 

So dearly wreathed with mine alone, 

That Destiny's relentless knite 
At once must sever both or none. 

There is a form on which these eyes 
Have often gazed with fond delight; 

By day that form their joys supplies, 
And dreams restore it through the "if^U, 



242 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 



There is a vot)e wLose tones inspire 

Such thrills of rapture through my breiJt; 

I would not hear a seraph choir, 

Unless that voice could join the rest. 

There is a face whose bhishes tell 
Aifection's tale upon the cheek ; 

But, pallid at one fond farewell. 
Proclaims more love than words can speak. 

There is a lip which mine hath prest, 
And none had ever prest before, 

t vow'd to make me sweetly blest, 
And mine — mine only, press it more. 

There is a bosom — all my own — 
Hath pillow'd oft this aching head ; 

A. mouth which smiles on me alone, 
An eye whose tears with mine are shed. 

There are two hearts whose nr ivements thrill 

In unison so closely sweet ! 
That, pulse to pulse responsive still, 

That both must heave — or cease to beat. 

There are two souls whose equal flow, 
In gentle streams so calmly ran, 

That when they part — they part! — ah, no! 
They cannot part — those souls are om. 



Adventurers, with wit, but little esnse : — 
With coxcombry, but little sterling merit;— 

With little art, but plenty of pretence, 
May freely boast of all their sons inherit ! 

A great newspaper name ! which las»:s its day^ 
And echoes out its brief successful hour, 

And then as feebly dies and dies away. 
Like the weak thunder of apassing shower' 

My garden and my song are worth all these ; 
The well-attuned duet which thrills and 
thrills. 
And ever and anon- returns to please. 

Or glee v/^ ;h swells to charm the hall U 
fills 

My flowers, my cabbages, my common-place 
But fragrant, and, what's more, productive 
beans, 
And many birds, to fill the narrow space. 
Which spreads within my skirt of ever 
greens. 

With some such songs as I have heard you 
sing, 

And all the little comforts, such as these, 
I 'd set at nought the court and every thing 

And live — at least I think so — quite at ess^ 



LINES WRITTEN FOR A FRIEND. 

Oh ! give me but my garden and my song. 
With all the pleasures of a rustic home. 

And let the restless, fashionable throng 

Spend Spring in London, and the fall at 
Rome. 

Let self-styled Honour, and its gay career. 
Go comfortless, to float in Pleasure's wake ; 

Enjoyment must, indeed, be purchased dear, 
When ease must be forsaken for its sake. 

Let tinsell'd Glory hallow whom it charms, 
And public palms attend Ambition's way. 

And let me scan the tillage of my farms, 
And watch my garden walls and shrubs in 
May. 

Let Diplomats go hover round a court. 

And vour sage dandies govern princely airs; 

Proud if they make but honesty their sport, 
Wrapp'd in white cambric, and made up 
of snares. 



SONNET. 

What makes us shrink in horror from om 
thought f 
What makes us shun the eyes of all man 

kind, 
As if we fear'd in every glance to find 
The ridicule we had too tiiily sought ? 
What makes us hate the world and cherish 

nought? 
T^Tiat makes us fathom our own proper mind. 
And spurn our self-esteem, too late resign'd, 
Alas ! this lesson must be sadly taught ! 

The same consuming passion that will goad 
Our flagging energies to greater deeds. 

And still strew thorns upon the glorious 
road. 
To prick us, as the spectre yet recedes, 
And make our honours vainer as they swell; 
Tis Jealousy — the vilest fiend of .Hell! 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 



243 



THE SPELL IS BROKE, THE CHARM 
IS FLOWN : 

"WRITTEN AT ATHENS, JANUARY 16, 1810, 

The spcli is broke, the chiinu is llowu ' 
Thus is it Avilh lil'e's liliul lever : 

We madly suiiie wlicu we should groan ; 
Delirium is ooi' besl deceiver. 

Each lucid interval of thought 

Recalls the woes of Natui-e's charter, 

And he that acts as wise men ought. 
But lives, as saints have died, a maityr. 



WRITTEN AFTER SWIMMING FROM 
SESTOS TO ABYDOS. 

If, in the month of dai'k December, 

Leander, who was nightly wont 
(What maid will not the tale remember?) 

I'o cross thy stream, broad Hellespont ! 

If, when the wintry tempest roar'd, 

He sped to Hero, nothing loth. 
And thus of old thy current poui'd. 

Fair Venus I how I pity both ! 

For me, degenerate modem wretch, 
Though in the genial month of May, 

My dripping limbs 1 faintly stretch, 
And think 1 've done a feat to-day. 

But since he cross'd the rapid tide, 

According to the doubtful story. 
To woo, — and — Lord knows what beside. 

And swam for Love, as 1 for Glory ; 

T were hard to say who fared the best : 
Sad mortals 1 thus the Gods still plague you! 

Be lost his labour, I my jest; 

For he was tU-own'd, and I 'vc the ague. 

May 9, 1810. 



LINES WRITTEN IN THE TRAVEL. 
LERS' BOOK AT ORCPIOMENUS. 

IN THIS BOOK A TRAVELLER HAD WRITTEN : 

" Fair Albion, smiling, sees her son depart 
I'o trace the birth and nursery of ait : 
Noble his object, glorious is his aim ; 
He comes to Athens, and he writes his name " 



beneath WHICH LORD tVRON IN4ERTE> 
THE FOLLOWING- 

The modest bard, like many a bard unknown, 
Rhymes on our names, but wisely hides his own ; 
But yet, whoe'er he be, to say no worse. 
His name would bring more credit than his 
verse. 

ISIO, 



MAID OF ATHENS, ERE VfE PART 

ZuYj fA.oVf ffus a.ya.'Tru, 

Maid of Athens, ere. we part. 
Give, oh, give back my heart I 
Or, since that has leit my breast. 
Keep it now, and take the rest ! 
Hear my vow before I go, 



itcitn fAov, aois ot.ya.'KCt 



13 



By those tresses iinconfined, 
Woo'd by each /Egeau wind ; 
By those lids whose jetty fringe 
Kiss thy soil cheeks' blooming tinge ; 
By those wild eyes like the roc, 
2iun (ioZy ffdi ayaira). 

By that lip I long to taste ; 
By that zone-encircled waist; 
By all the token-flowersi-^ that tell 
What w^ords can never speak so well; 
By love's alternate joy and woe, 

Maid of Athens! I am gone: 
Think of me, sweet ! when alone. 
Though I tly to Istambol,!^ 
Athens holds my heart and soul: 
Can I cease to love thee? No! 
Zun fAou, ffdg uycfsu. 

Athens, 1310) 



FAINT HEART NETER WON FAIR 
LADY. 

Some say, fairest ladies, " Faint heart neveif 

won you ;" 
Though modest ye be, then, must mode«ity 

shun you ? 
And shall brawling impudence boast in conceit 
Of those whisi>ers of favour it ne'er shouki 

repeat ? 



244 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 



THERE'S FASCINATION IN THY 
GLOWING EYE. 

There's fascination in thy glowing eye ; 

There 's an enchantment on thy snowy brow : 
Voluptuous languor revels in thy sigh ; 

Thy smiles bespeak the rapture they avow. 
Thy neck was carved by beauty from her own; 

thy bosom moulded from her swelling 
bust — 
Thine arm was fashion'd for the toys of love; 

Thy rounded tigure for its sweetest play — 
Thy countenance was stolen from above, 

Or granted by some angel on the way ; 
And yet thy fate is toil : perchance e'en grief, 

A destiny still cherish'd in thy heart. 



LINES WRITTEN BENEATH A 
PICTURE. 

Dear object of defeated care! 

Though now of Love and thee bereft, 
To reconcile me with despair, 

Thine image and my tears are left. 

'T is said with Soitow Time can cope; 

But this I feel can ne'er be true : 
For by the death-blow of my Hope 

My Memory immortal grew. 

Athens, January, 1811. 



TRANSLATION OF THE FAMOUS 
GREEK W^AR SONG. 

" ^iUTi ^uThs Tuv 'EXX>j»«ii."17 

Sons of the Greeks, arise I 

The glorious hour's gone forth', 

And, worthy of such ties, 
Display who gave us birth. 



Sons of Greeks ! let us go 
In arms against the foe, 
Till their hated blood shall flow 
In a river past om- feet. 

Then manfully despising 
The Turkish tyrant's yoke, 

l,«t your country see you rising, 
AJiil all her chaiub arc broke 



Brave s'lades of chiefs and 

Behold the coming sXvh'el 
Hellenes of past ages, 

Oh, start again to life ! 
At the sound of my trumpet, breaking 

Your sleep oh, join with me! 
And the seven-hill'd'^ city seeking. 

Fight, conquer, till we 're free. 

Sons of Greeks, &e 

Sparta, Sparta, why in slumbers 

Lethargic dost thou lie ? 
Awake, and join thy numbers 

With Athens, old ally! 
Leonidas recalling, 

That chief of ancient song, 
Who saved ye once from falling, 

The terrible ! the strong I 
Who made that bold diversion 

In old Thennopylae, 
And warring with the Persian 

To keep his country free ; 
With his three hundred waging 

The battle, long he stood, 
And like a lion raging. 

Expired in seas of blood. 

Sons of Greeks, &c.l* 



TRANSLATION OF THE ROMAIC 
SONG, 

" MTlViO jUi; '•TO'' Ti^iSoXi. 
'il^cueruTfi Xati^yi," tScc.^ 

I ENTER thy garden of roses,21 

Beloved and fair Haidee, 
Each morning where Flora reposes. 

For surely I see her in thee. 
Oh, Lovely ! thus low I implore thee. 

Receive this fond truth from my tongiie. 
Which utters its song to adore thee. 

Yet trembles for what it has sung ; 
As the branch, at the bidding of Nature, 

Adds fragrance and fruit to the tree. 
Through her eyes, through her every feature. 

Shines the soul of the yotmg Haidee. 

But the loveliest garden grows hateful 

When Love has abandon'd the bowers ; 
Bring me hemlock — since mine is ungrateful 

That herb is more fragrant than flowers. 
The poison when pour'd from the chalice 

Will deeply embitter the bowl ; 
But when drunk to escape from thy n>aliee, 

The draught shall be sweet to my soul 



OOOASiONAL PIECES. 



245 



Too criiHl! in vain I implore thee 
My hv.'art from these horrors to save : 

Will nought to my bosom restore thee ? 
Then open the gates of the grave. 

As the chief who to combat advances 

Secure of his conquest before, 
Thus thou, with those eyes for thy lances, 

Hivst pierced through my heart to its core. 
Ah, tell me, my soul 1 must I perish 

By pangs which a smile would dispel? 
Would tlie hope, which thou once bad's? me 
cherish, 

For torture repay me too well ? 
Now sad is the garden of roses, 

Beloved but false Haidee ! 
There Flora all wither'd reposes, 

And mourns o'er thine absence with me. 



Is duller than the lustre which I seek. 
Nor vainly seek in U-y sweet eye — noi 
speak 
Detractuigiy to praise — as some bards do ! 
I will not stain the my foi thy neck, 
Nor strive, by filching, purer charms M 
deck. 
Nor uaiure's slighted splendour o'er tbeit 

strew: — 
They are too fair to need such hollow praise, 

And gain but liiile in all nature's wreck. 
Theripeningrose,tlie sheen thy cheek displays, 
The spotless lily, charm iu various ways. 



ODE TO THE PAST. 



ON PARTING. 
The kiss, dear maid ! thy lip has left 

Shall never part from mine. 
Till happier hours restore the gift 

Untainted back to thine. 

Thy parting glance, which fondly bcacts, 

Kn equal love naay see : 
The tear that from thine eyelid stream* 

Can weep no change in me. 

I ask no pledge to make me blest 

In gazing when alone ; 
Nor one memorial for a breast, 

Whose thoughts are all thine own. 

Nor need I %vrite — to tell the tale 

My pen were doubly weak : 
Oh ! what can idle words avail. 

Unless the hcirt could speak ? 

By day or night, in weal or woe, 

That heart, no longer free. 
Must bear the love it cannot show, 

And silent, ache for thee. 

March, 1811, 



SONNET. 

I WILL not rob the rose of its soft hue, . 
To give the pilfer'd beauty to thy cheek, 
Th' invidious panegyric were but weak ! 

C will not sweai- the glist'ning nwrninj^ dew 



RKLE^fTLESs Past! canst thou not hear « 
prayer ? 

Dost thou der.de our immortality, 
And calmly tell as we must ever bear 

The hopeless agony of knowing thee ? 

It is a tyrant's part to use his power. 

Not only to oppress but mock at man ; 
Veil thyself from me but a single hour. 

And let me dream of rapture while I caul- 
Leave me, pursue me not thou matchlcsi 
fiend ! 
The tempests o'erwhelming woe 
Have yet their time to come and go. 
And harricanes of passion blow, 
And every hour brings forth a foe ; 
In mere forbearance let me call thee friend I— 

Fiction and fancy have embodied thee! 
They made thee many as thy pains, ^• 
And all that from thy spite remains 
Of ancient Lore, in sovrow'd strains, 
Counts Curies by their several reigns ; 

And numbers years by their atrocity! 

Man hunts, pursues, destroys, his fellow man ' 
Perchance would blast his memory, 
And crush his grave with calumny ; 
But death must set the victim free. 
Life and injustice cease to be, 

Wliereas thy pf^rsecutioo koows bo spaa ! 



246 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 



TO TIME. 

Eternal Time ! that wastelh without waste 
Thou art, and art not — diist, and livest 
still ; 
Most slow of all, and yet or greatest haste. 

Both ill <and good, and neither good nor ill. 
Hou- can I justly praise thee, or dispraise ? 
r^ark are thy nights, but bright and clear thy 
days. 



TO THYRZA. 

Without a stone to mark the spot, 

And say, what Truth might well have rai 

By all, save one, perchance forgot, 
Ah! wherefore art thou lowly laid? 

By many a shore and many a sea 

Divided, yet beloved in vain; 
The past, the future fled to thee, 

To bid us meet — no — ne'er again! 

Could this have been — a word, a look, 
That softly said, " We part in peace," 

Had taught my bosom how to brook. 
With fainter sighs, tliy soul's release. 

And didst thou not, since Death for thee 
Prepared a light and pangless dart, 

Once long for him thou ne'er shalt see. 
Who held, and holds thee in his heart? 

Oh. who like him had watch'd thee here? 

Or iHdly mark'd thy glazing eye, 
Tu that dread hour ei'e death appear. 

When &il',;it sorrow fears to sigh, 

I ill all was past! But when no mora 
'Twas thine to reck .of human \voe, 

ftfT^ction's heart-drops, gushing o'er. 
Had flow'd as fast — as now they Jlc w. 

Shall they not flow, when many a day 
] n these, to me, deserted towers, 

Ere call'd but ibr a time away. 

Affection's mingling tears were ours? 

Ours too the glance none saw beside ; 

The smile none else might understand; 
The whisper'd tliought of hearts allied, 

The pxessuie of the tlnilling hand; 



The kiss, so guiltless and refined, 

Ihat Love each wanner wish forbore; 

Those eyes proclaim'd so pure a mind, 
Even passion blush'd to plead for more. 

The tone, that taught me to rejoice, 
W^hen prone, unlike thee, to repine; 

The song, celestial from thy voice. 
But sweet to me from none but thine; 

The pledge we wore — I wear it stiD, 

But where is thine? — Ah! where art thoc / 

Oft have I borne the weight of ill, 
But never bent beneath till now! 

Well hast thou left in life's best bloom 
The cup of woe for me t > drain. 

If rest alone be in the tomb 

I would not wish thee here again ; 

But if in worlds more blest than this 
Thy virtues seek a filter sphere. 

Impart some portion of thy bliss. 

To wean me from mine anguish here 

Taecb me— too early taught by thee ! 

To bear, forgiving and forgiven- 
On earth thy love was such to me; 

It £fca would fomi my hope in heaven . 
October 11, 181 



AWAY, AWAY, YE NOTES OF W^OE. 

Away, away, ye notes of woe! 

Be silent, thou once soothing strain, 
Or I must flee from hence — for, oh I 

I dare not trust those sounds again. 
To me they speak of brigiiter days — 

But lull the chords, for now, alas! 
I must not think, I may not gaze, 

On what I am — on what I was. 

The voice that made those sounds more swea 

Is hush'd, and all their charms are fled; 
And now their softest notes repeat 

A dirge, an anthem o'er the dead' 
Yes, Thyrza! yes, they breathe of thee. 

Beloved dust! since dust thou art; 
And all that once was harmony 

Is worse than discord to my heart' 

'T is silent all ! — but on my ear 
The well remember'd echoes thiill, 

I hear a voice I would not hear, 

A voice that now miglit well be still . 



OCCASIONAL PIECES 



247 



Yet oft my doujting soul 'twill shake: 
Even slumber owns its gentle tone, 

Til) consciousness will vainly wake 
To listen, tliough the dream be tlown. 

Sweet Thyrza! waking as in sleep, 

Thou art but now a lovely dream ; 
A star that trembled o'er llie deep, 

'I'ken turn'd I'rom eailh its tender beam. 
Hut he who through life's dreary way 

Must pass, when heaven is veii'd in wrath, 
Will long lament tlie vanish'd ray 

That scatter'd gladness o'er his path. 

Decembers, 1811. 



ONE STRUGGLE MORE, AND I AM 
FREE. 

One struggle more, and I am free 

From pangs that rend my heart in twain ; 
One last long sigh to love and thee, 

Then back to busy life again. 
ft suits me well to mingle now 

With things that never pleased before: 
Though every joy is fled below, 

What future grief can touch me more? 

Then bring me wine, the banquet bring; 

Man was not form'd to live alone: 
I '11 be that light, unmeaning thing, 

That smiles with all, and weeps with none. 
It was not thus in days more dear, • 

It never would have been, but thou 
Hast fled, and left me lonely here; 

Thou 'rt notliing — all are nothing now. 

In vain my Ijrre would lightly breathe I 

The smile that sorrow fain would wear 
But mocks the woe that lurks beneath, 

Lilie roses o'er a sepulchre. 
Though gay companions o'er the bowl 

Dispel awhile the sense of ill ; 
Though pleasure fires the maddening soul, 

The heart — the heart is lonely still! 

On many a lone and lovely night 

It soothed to gaze upon the sky; 
For then I deem'd ihe heavenly light 

Shone sweetly on thy pensive eye: 
And oft I thought at Cynthia's noon, 

When sailing o'er the ^Egean wave, 
" Now ThjTza gazes on that moon — " 

Alas, U gleam'd upon her grave ! 



When stretch'd on fever's I'eepless bed, 

And sickness shrunk my ihrubbing veini, 
" 'T is comfort still," I faintly said, 

" That Thyrza cannot know my pains:" 
Like freedom to the time-worn slave 

A boon 'tis idle then to give, 
Relenting Nature vainly gave 

My life, when Thyrza ceased to liv» 

My Thyrza's pledge in better days. 

When love and life alike were new! 
How different now thou meet'st my gaze ' 

How tinged by time with soitow's hue I 
The heart that gave itself uith thee 

Is silent — ah, were mine as stili 
Though cold as e'en the dead can ha 

It feels, it sickens with the chill. 

Thou bitter pledge ! thou mournful token ! 

Though painful, welcome to my breast! 
Still, still, preserve that love unbroken, 

Or break the heart to \\hich thou 'rt press 'd 
Time tempers love, but not removes. 

Mure hallow'd when its hope is fled : 
Oh! what are thousand living loves 

To that which cannot quit the dead? 



EUTHANASIA. 

When Time, or soon or late, shall bring 
The dreuuiless sleep that lulls the dead, 

Oblivion! may thy languid wing 
Wave gently o'er my dying bed! 

No band of friends or heirs be there. 
To weep or with the coming blow 

No maiden, with dishevell'd hair. 
To feel, or feign, decorous woe. 

But silent let me sink to earth. 
With no officious mourners near: 

I would not mar one hour of mirth. 
Nor startle friendship with a tear. 

Yet Love, if Love m such an hour 
Could nobly check its useless sighs, 

Might then exert it.s latest power 
In her who lives and him who dies. 

'T were sweet, my Psyche ! to the last 
Thy featines still serene to see* 

Forgetfid of its sti nggles past, 

E'en Pain itself should smile on the 



248 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 



But vain the ydsh — for Beauty still 

Will shiink, as shrinks the ebbing breath ] 

Ajid woman's teai's, produced at will. 
Deceive in life, unman in death. 

Then lonely be my latest hour, 
Wii-hout regret, -without a gi'oan ; 

For thousands Death hath ceased to lower, 
And pain been transient or imknown. 

" Ay, but to die, and go," alas! 

Where all have gone, and all must go! 
To be the nothing that I was 

Ere born to Ufe and living woe ' 

Count o'er the joys thine hom-s have seen, 
Count o'er thy days from anguish free. 

And know, whatever thou hast been. 
'T is something better not to be. 



The better days of life were ours ; 

The worst can be but mine : 
The sun that cheers, the storm that lowers 

Shall never more be thine. 
The silence of that dreamless sleep 
I envy now too much to weep ; 

Not need I to repine 
That all ihose charms have pass'd away ; 
1 might have watch'd through long decay. 

The flower in ripen'd bloom unmatch'd 

Must fall the earhest prey; 
Though by no hand untimely snatch'd. 

The leaves must drop away : 
And yet it were a gi-eater grief 
To watch it withering, leaf by leaf, 

Than see it pluck'd to-day , 
Since earthly eye but ill can bear 
To trace the change to foul from faJa 



AND THOU ART DEAD, AS YOUNG 

AS FAIR. 

*' Heu, quanto minus est cum reliquis versari 
quam tui meminisse I" 

Ayi thou art dead, as young and fair, 

As aught of mortal birth; 
And fonn so soft, and charms so rare, 

Too soon return'd to Earth! 
Though Eailh received them in her bed. 
And o'er the spot the orowd may tread 

In carelessness or mirth. 
There is an eye which could not brook 
A moment on that grave to look. 

I will not ask where thou liest low, 

Nor gaze upon the spot ; 
There flowers or weeds at will may giow, 

So I behold tliem not: 
It is enough for me to prove 
That what I loved, and long must love. 

Like conmion earth can rot; 
To me there needs no stone to tell, 
Tis Nothing that I loved so well. 

Yet did I love thee to the last 

As fervently as thou, 
WTio didst not change through all the past. 

And canst not alter now. 
The love where Death has set his seal, 
Nor age can chill, nor rival steal, 

Nor falsehood disavow : 
And, what were worse, thou canst not see 
Or wrong, or change, or fault in me 



I know not if I could have borne 

To see thy beauties fade ; 
The night that foUoAv'd such a mom 

Had worn a deeper shade : 
Thy day without a cloud hath pass'd, 
And thou wert lovely to the last ; 

Extinguish'd, not decay 'd ; 
As stars that shoot along the sky 
Shine >r'ghtest at they fall from hi^ 

As cnce I wept, if I could weep, 

My tears might well be shed, 
To think I was not near to keep 

One vigil o'er thy bed ; 
To gaze, how fondly! on thy face. 
To fold thee in a faint embrace, 

Uphold thy drooping head ; 
And show that love, however vain. 
Nor tliou nor I can feel again. 

Yet how tauvn less it were to gain. 

Though thou hast left me free. 
The loveliest things that still remain, 

Than thus remember thee 1 
The all of thine that cannot die 
Through dark tuid dread Eternity 

Returns again to me. 
And more thy bmied love endears 
Than aught, except its living years. 

Febnuny, 181* 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 



249 



LINES WRITTEN ON A BLANK LEAF 

OF THE " PLEASURES OF 

MEMORY." 

A.HSENT or present, still to thee, 

My friend, what magic spells belong ! 

is ;Ul can tell, who share, hke me, 
In turn thy converse, and thy song. 

h t when the dreaded hour shall come 
\ By Friendship ever deem'd too nigh, 
I ad " Mii.MORv" oer her Druid's tomb24 
• Shall weep that aught of thee can die. 

How fondly will she then repay 
Thy homage offer'd at her shrine, 

And blend, while ages roll away, 
Her name immortally with thine! 

April 19, 1812. 



ADDRESS, 

SPOKEN AT THE OPENINQ OP DRURT-LANE 
THEATRE, SATURDAY, OCTOBER 10, 1812.25 

Ix one dread night our city saw, and sigh'd, 
Bow'd to the dust, the Drama's tower of pride; 
In one short hour beheld the blazing fane, 
Apollo sink, and Shakspeare cease to reign. 

Ye who beheld, (oh ! sight admired and 

moum'd, 
Whose radiance mock'd the ruin it adorn 'd !) 
Through clouds of fire the massive fragments 

riven. 
Like Israel's pillar, chase the night from heaven 
Saw the long column of revolving flames 
Shake its red shadow o'erthe startled Thames,26 
While thousands, throng'd around the burning 

dome, [home, 

Shrank back appall'd, and trembled for their 
As glared the volumed blaze, and ghastly shone 
The skies, with lightnings aw-ful as their own. 
Till blackening ashes and the lonely wall 
rjsui-p'd the Muse's realm, and mark'd her fall ; 
Say — shall this new, nor less aspiring pile, 
Rear'd where once rose the mightiest in our isle, 
Know the same favour which the Ibmier knew, 
A shrine lor Shakspeare — worthy him and you? 

Yes — it shall be — the magic of that name 
Defies the scythe of time, the torch of flame , 
On the same spot still consecrates the scene. 
And bids the Drama be where she hath been. 
This fabric's birth attests the potent spell — 
Indulge our honest piide, and say. How well ' 



As soars this fane to emuh te the last, 
Oh! might we draw our omens from ths pasti 
Some hour propitious to our prayers may boasi 
Names such as hallow still the dome we lost. 
On Drury first your Siddons' thrilling art 
O'erwhelm'd the gentlest, stonn'd the sternest 

heart 
On Drury, Garrick's latest laurels giew ; 
Here your last tears retiring Roscius drew: 
Sigh'd his last thanks, and wept his last adieu 
But still for living wit the wreaths may bloom, 
That only waste their odours o'er the tomb. 
Such Drury claim'd and claims — nor yourefusb 
One tribute to revive his slumbering muse ; 
With garlands deck your own Meuander's head ' 
Nor hoard your honours idly for the dead ! 

Dear are the days which made our annal» 

bright. 
Ere Gairick fled, or Brinsley ceased to write. 
Heirs to their labou»'s like all high bon. hens. 
Vain of our ancestry as they of Oteirs ; 
While thus Remembrance borxowa Banquo's 

glass 
To claim the sceptred shadows as they pass, 
And we the mirror hold, where imaged shine 
Immortal names, emblazon'd on oiur line, 
Pause — ere their feebler ofispringyou condemn. 
Reflect how haid the task to rival them I 

Friends of the stage ! to whom both Playeri 
and Plays 
Must sue alike for pardon or for praise. 
Whose judging voice and eye alone direct 
The boundless power to cherish or reject; 
If e'er frivolity has led to fame, 
And made us blush that you forbore to blame; 
If e'er the sinking stage could condescend 
To soothe the sickly taste it dare not mend. 
All past reproach may present scenes refute. 
And censure, wisely loud, be;"astly mute ! 
Oh ! since your fiat stamps the Drama s laws, 
P'orbear to mock us with misplaced applause 
So pride shall doubly nerve the actor's powers 
And reason's voice be echo'd back by ours ! 

This greeting oer, the ancient rule obeyd. 
The Drama's homage by her herald paid, 
Receive our welcome too, whose every tone 
Springs from our hearts, and fain wouii wW 

your own. 
The curtain rises — may our stage unfold 
Scenes not unworthy Drury 's days of old ! 
Britons our judges, Nature for our guide, 
Still may we please — Jong, long may you !»* 
side' 



250 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 



PARENTHETICAL ADDRESS 

BV DR PLAGIARY, 

Balf Stolen, with acknowledgments, to be spoken 
iu an inarticulate voice by blaster P. at the 
opening of the next new theatre. Stolen parts 
marked with the inverted commas of quotation 
— thus" ". 

■* When energising objects men pursue,*' ' 
Then Lord knows what is writ by Lord knows 

who 
•• w modest monologue you here survey," 
Hiss'd I'rom the theatre the "other day," 
Asil'SirFretl'ul wTole "the slumberous" verse, 
And gave his son " the rubbish" to rehearse. 
" Yet at the thing you'd never be amazed," 
Knew you the rumpus which the author raised , 
" Nor even here your smiles would be represt, " 
Knew v'ou these lines — the badness of the best. 
'* Flame ! fire ! and flame ! !" (words boiTow'd 

from Lucretius,) 
" Dread metaphors which open wounds " like 

issues ! 
" And sleeping pangs awake — and — but away'* 
\Confound me if I know what next to say). 
" Lo Hope reviving re-expands her wings," 
And Master G— recites what Doctor Busby- 
sings !— 
"If mighty things with small we may compare, 
ITranslated from the grammar for the fair !) 
Dramatic " spirit drives a conquering car," 
And burn'd poor Moscow like a tub of " tar."^^ 
'^ This spirit Wellington has shown in Spain," 
I'o I'urnish melodrames for Drury Lane. 
" Another Marlborough points to Blenheim's 

story," 
A^'d George and I will dramatise it for ye. 

" In arts and sciences our isle hath shone" 
(This deep disqovery is mine alone). 
" Oh British poesy, whose powers inspire 
My verse — or I 'm a fool — and Fame's a liar, 
'* 'i'hee we invoke, your sister arts implore' 
With "smiles," and " lyres," and "pencils," 

and much more. 
These, if we w in the Graces, too, we gain 
Disgraces, too, " inseparable train ! " 
" Three who have stolen their witching airs 
from Cupid" [stupid): 

(You all know w hat I mean, unless you 're 
'Hamionious throng" that I have kept in petto, 
JSow to produce in a " divine sestetto"!! 
" VMiile Poesy," while these delightful doxies, 
" Sustains her part" in all the " upper" boxes ! 



" Thus lifted gloriously, you 'U soar along,' 
Borne in the vast balloon of Busby's song; 
*' Shine in your farce, masque, scenery, and 

play" 
(For this last line George had a holiday). 
" Old Drury never, never soai-'d so high," 
So says the manager, and so say I. 
" Buthold, you say, this self-complacent boast " 
Is this the poem which the public lost? 
" True — true — that lowers at once our mounl 

ing pride ; " 
But lo I — the papers print what you deride. 
" 'T is ours to look on you — you hold the prize," 
'T is twenty guineas, as they adveitize ! 
*• A double blessing your rewards impart " — 
I wish I had them" then, with all my heart. 
"Our twofold feeling otfcvjs its twofold cause, 
Why son and I both beg for your applause. 
" When in your fostering beams you bid us 
live," [you give ; 

My next subscription list shall say how much 
October, 1813 



SONNET. 

Prosperity counts courtiers without end. 
So long as all the Pleasures round us wait, 
And amongst men we aredeem'd fortimate ; 
Each of these courtiers would be titled "friend," 
Would hover round us, and would apprehend 
Our most minute desires : and would create 
New visionary joys by antidate, — 
Ever at hand to smile and to attend. — 
Whe.i we are happy, and no grief or pain, 
No vain or luckless passion breathes its 
blight. 
To parch our withering spirits with its banc, 
No futile Hope doth mock us in our wane. 

Thou sleep art ever lavish of delight, — 
Thou art a Courtier and a Parasite 1 



EEMEMBER THEE! REMEMBEB 
THEE ! 
Remember thee ! remember thee ! 

Till Lethe quench life's burning stream 
Remorse and shame shall cling to thee. 

And haunt thee like a feverish dream . 
Remember thee ! Ay, doubt it not. 

Thy husband too shall think of thee : 
By neither shalt thou be forgot, 

Thou false to him, thou fiend to me ! » 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 



251 



TO IIME. 

Time I on ^\hose arbitiarj' wing 
The varying liouis must flag or fly, 

Wliose tarily winter, fleeting spring, 
But drag or drive us on to die-^ 

Hail '.hou ! who on my birth bestow'd 
Those boons to all that know thee known; 

Yet better I sustain thy load, 
For now I bear the weight alone. 

I would not one fond heart should share 
The bitter moments thou hast given ; 

And pardon thee, since thou couldst spare 
Ail that I loved, to peace or heaven. 

To them be joy or rest, on me 

Thy future ills shall press in vain . 

I nothing owe but years to thee. 
A debt ah-eady paid in pain. 

Yet even that pain was some relief; 

(t lelt, but still forgot thy power: 
Ti'.e active agony of grief 

jtletards, but nevei' counts the houi". 

It 3oy I 've sigh'd to think thy flight 
Would soon subside from swift to slow; 

Tlif cloud could overcast the light. 
But could not add a night to woe ; 

For then, however drear and dai-k, 
My soul was suited to thy sky ; 

One star alone shot forth a spark 
To prove thee — not Eternity 

That beam haui sunk, and now thou art 
A blank ; a thing to count and curse, 

Ihrotigh each dull tedious trifling part, 
Which all regret, yet all rehearse 

One scene even thou canst not defoira ; 

Tlie limit of thy sloth or speea 
Wh'i.n future wanderers bear the storm 

^^'hich we shall sleep too sound to heed : 

And ] can smile to think how weak 
Thine efforts shortly shall be shown. 

When a.i the vengeance thou canst wreak 
Must fall upon — a nameless stone. 



TRANSLATION OF A ROMAIC LOVB 
SONG. 

Ah ! Love was nev«r yet without 
The pang, the agony, the doubt, 
\Miich renils my lieart with ceaseless sigh, 
While day and night roll dai'kling by. 

Without one friend to hear my woe, 
1 faint, I die beneath the blow. 
That Love had arrows, well I knew ; 
Alas ! I find them poison'd too 

Birds, yet in freedom, shun the net 
Which Love around your haunts hath set; 
Or, circled by his fatal fire. 
Your hearts shall burn, your hopes expire. 

A bird of free and careless wing 
Was I, through many a smiling spring ; 
But caught within the subtle snare 
I bmn, and feebly flutter there 

Who ne'er have loved, and loved in vain. 
Can neither feel nor pity pain, 
The cold repulse, the look askance, 
Tbe lightning of Love's angry glance. 

In flattering dreams I deem'd thee mine , 
Now hope, and he who hoped, decline; 
Like melting wax, or withering flower, 
I feel my passion, and thy power 

My light of lil'e ! ah, tell me why 

That pouting lip, and alter 'd eye 

My bird of love ! my beaut*>Oas mate! 

And art thou changed, and canst thcu hate? 

Mine eyes like wintry streams o'erflow: 
What wretch with me woidd barter woe? 
My bird I relent : one note could give 
A charm, to bid thy lover live. 

My curdling blood, my madd'ning brain, 
In silent anguish I sustain; 
And still thy heart, without partaking 
One pang, exults — while mine is breaking. 

Poiu- me the poison ; fear not thou ! 
Thou canst not murder more than now : 
I 've lived to curse my natal day. 
And Love, that thus can lingering slay. 

My wounded soul, my bleeding breast, 
Can patience preach thee into rest? 
Alas I too late, I dearly know 
That joy is harbinger of woe. 



252 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 



THOU ART NOT t<Ai.SE, BD'l THOL 
ART FICKLE 

Thod art not false, but thou art fickle, 
To those thyself so fondly sought; 

The tears that thou hast forced to trickle 
Are doubly bitter from that thought : 

'Tis this which breaks the heart thou grievest. 

Too weL' thou lov'st — too soon thou leavest. 

The wholly false the heart despises, 
And spurns deceiver and deceit ; 

But she who not a thought disguises, 
Whose love is as sincere as sweet, — 

When she can change who loved so truly. 

It feels what mine has felt so newly. 

To dream of joy and wake to sorrow 
Is doom'd tc all who love or live ; 

And if, when conscious on the morrow 
We scarce our fancy can forgive, 

That cheated us in slumber only. 

To leave the waking soul more lonely. 

What must they feel whom no false vision. 
But truest, tenderest passion warm'd? 

Sincere, but swift in sad transition ; 
As if a dream alone had charm'd ? 

Ah ! sure such grief is fancy's scheming. 

And all thy change can be but di-caming! 



ON BEING ASKED WHAT WAS THE 
"ORIGIN OF LOVE." 

The "Origin of Love!" — Ah, w^hy 
That cruel question ask of me. 

When thou may'st read in many an eye 
He starts to life on seeing thee? 

And shouldst thou seek his end to know : 
My heart forebodes, my tears foresee. 

He '11 linger long in silent woe ; 
But live — until 1 cease to be. 



Tnat yiCiOmg breast, that melti*^ eje, 

Too much invited to be bless'd : 
That gentle prayer, that pleading sigh. 
The wilder wish reproved, repress'd 

Oh ! let me feel that all I lost 

But saved thee all that conscience fearr ; 
And blush for every pang it cost 

To spare the vain remorse of yeai's. 

Yet think of this when many a tongue, 
Whose busy accents whisper blame. 

Would do the heart that loved thee wrong. 
And brand a nearly blighted name. 

Think that, whate'er to others, thou 

Hast seen each selfish thought subdued: 

I bless thy purer soul even now. 
Even now, in midnight solitude. 

Oh, God ! that we had met in time. 

Our hearts as fond, thy hand more free; 

When thou hadst loved without a crime, 
And I been less unworthy thee ' 

Far may thy days, as heretofore. 

From this our gaudy world be past . 

And that too bitter moment o'er, 
Oh ! may such trial be ithy last ! 

This heart, alas ! perverted long, 

Itself destroy'd might there destroy ; 

To meet thee in the glittering throng, 
W^ould wake Presumption's hope of joy. 

Then to the things whose bliss or woe. 
Like mine, is wild and worthless all, 

That world resign — such scenes forego, 
Where those who feel must surely fall. 

Thy youth, thy charms, thy tenderness. 
Thy soul from long seclusion pure ; 

From what even here hath pass'd, may goes* 
What there thy bosom must endm-e. 



REMEMBER HIM, WHOM PASSION'S 
POWER. 

Remember him, whom passion's power 

Severely, deeply, vainly proved : 
Remember thou that dangerous hour 

When neither fell, though both \Vere loved. 



Oh ! pardon that imploring tear, 
Since not by Virtue shed in vain. 

My fienzy tlrew from eyes so dear; 
For me they shall not weep again. 

Though long and mournful must it be. 
The thought that we no more may mi 

Yet I deserve the stern decree 

And almost deem the sentence sweet. 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 



253 



IF S0METIML3 IN THE HAUNTS 
OF MEN. 

If sometimes in the haunts of men 

Thine Image from my breast may fade, 
Tlwi lou'Mv hour presents again 

Ihe semblance of thy gentle shade: 
A.Ki now that sail and silent hour 

Thu^ much <if thee can still restore, 
And sorrow unobserved may pour 

The plaint she dare not speak before. 

Oh, pardon that in crowds awhile 

I waste one thought I owe to thee, 
And, seif-condemn'd, appear to smile, 

Uni'aithful to thy memory ! 
Nor deem that memory less dear, 

That then I seem not to repine; 
■would not Ibols should overhear 

One sigh that should be wholly thine. 

f not the goblet pass uuquafTd, 

It is not drain'd to banish care ; 
The cup must hold a deadlier draught, 

That brings a Lethe for despair. 
\nd could Oblivion set my soul 
From all her troubled visions free, 
'd dash to earth the sweetest bowl 
That drown 'd a single thought of thee. 

'or wert thou vanish'd from my mind. 

Where could my vacant bosom turn ? 
^nd who would then remain behind 

To honour thine abandon'd Urn ? 
Vo, no — it is my soitow's pride 

That last dear duty to fulfil ; 
''hough all the world forget beside, 

'T is meet that I remember still. 

For well I know, that such had been 
Thy gentle care for him, who now 
Unmom-n'd shall quit this mortal scene, 
Where none regarded him, but thou : 
And, oh! I feel in that was given 
A blessing never meant for me ; 
Thou wert too like a dream of Heaven, 
. For earthly Love to merit thee. 
• March U, 1812. 



O'N A CORNELIAN HEART WHICH 
WAS BROKEN. 

Ill-fated Heart! and can it be, 

That thou shouldst thus be rent in twain ? 

Have years of care for thine and thee 
Aiike been all employ'd in vaiu ? 



Yet precious seems each shatter'd pari, 
And every fragment dearer giown, 

Since he who wears thee feels thou art 
A fitter emblem of }iis own. 

March 16, Hia 



FROM THE FRENCH. 

MohE, beauty and poet, has two little crimiis; 
She makes her own face, and does not maka 
her rhymes. 



LINES TO A LADY WEEPING ^ 

Weep, daughter of a royal line, 
A Sire's disgi'ace, a realm's decay , 

Ah ! happy if each tear of thine 
Could wash a father's fault away ' 

Weep — for thy tears are Virtue's tears- 
Auspicious to these suflfering isles; 

And be each drop in future years 
Repaid thee by thy people's smiles ' 

March, 1812, 



THE CHAIN I GAVE. 
From the Turkish. 

The chain I gave was fair to view. 
The lute I added sweet in sound , 

The heart that ofifer'd both was true* 
And ill deserved the fate it found. 

These gifts were charm'd by secret spell, 
Thy truth in absence to divine ; 

And they have done their duty well, — ■ 
Alas ! they could not teach thee thine. 

That chain was firai in every link, 
Bat not to bear a stranger's touch ; 

That lute was sweet — till thou could'st thinll 
In other hands its notes were sucL 

Let him, who from thy neck unbound 
The chain which shiver'd in his grasp. 

Who saw that lute refuse to sound, 
Restring the chords, renew the clasp. 

When thou wert changed, they altcr'd too; 

The chain is broke, the music mute. 
'T is past — to them and thee adieu — 

False heart, frail chain, and silent Into 



254 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 



SONNET, TO GENEVRA. 

Thine eyes' blue tenderness, thy long fair hair, 
And the wan lustre of thy features— caught 
From contemplation — where serenely 
wi-ought [spair — 

Seems Son-ow's softness chaim'd from its de- 
Have thrown such speaking sadness in thine 
air, [fraught 

That — but I know thy blessed bosom 
With mines of unalloy'd and stainless 
thought — [care. 

I should have deem'd thee doom'd to eaithly 
With such an aspect, by his colours blent, 

When from his beauly-breathingpencil born, 
(Except that thou hast nothing to repent) 

The Magdalen of Guido saw the morn — 

Such seem'st thou --but how much more 

excellent! [scorn. 

With nought Remorse can claim — nor Virtue 

December I7, 1813. 



SONNET, TO THE SAME. 

Tnr cheek is pale with thought, but not from 
woe, 

And yet so lovely, that if Mirth coidd flush 

Its rose of whiteness with the brightest blush. 
My heart would wi.>h away that ruder glow 
And dazzle not thy deep-blue eyes — but, oh I 

While gazing on them stenier eyes will gush. 

And into mine my mother's weakness rush, 
Soft as the last drops round heaven's airy bow. 
For, thi-o«igh thy long dark lashes low depend- 
ing, 

The sold of melancholy Gentleness 
Gleams like a seraph from the sky descending. 

Above all pain, yet pitying all distress ; 
At once such majesty with sweetness blending, 

1 worship moie, but cannot love thee less. 
December 17, 1813. 



FROM THE PORTUGUESE. 

" TU MI CHAMAS." 

Iti moments to delight devoted, 

" My life !" with tendere.st tone, you cry! 
Dear words ! on which my hcaia had doted, 

If youth could neither fade nor die. 



To death even hours like these must i oU, 
Ah! then repeat those accents never; 

Or change " my life! " into " my soul I'" 
Which, Uke ray love, exists for ever. 

4 
ANOTHER VERSION. 

You call me still your life. — Oh! change the 
word — 

Life is as transient as the inconstant sigh 
Say rather I'm your soid; more just that name. 

For, like the soul, my love can never die 



SONNET. 

FuE stream, whose plaintive course was un 

opposed. 
In meiaucholy stillness moan'd along. 
Its munniuing almost became a song. 
No melody with matchless art composed. 
Nor notes by science mi)urufully disposed. 
Could make monotony bewitch so long, 
Or move to pathos half so deep or strong. 
As this perpetually interposed. 
Obstructed or disturbed this murmuring. 
Changes for discord every softer tone, 
The roar and din become an irksome thing 
Thenceforth we feel but pain in listening. 
Thus sorrow hath a music of Us own. 
Which charms in its ti-anquillity alone. 



THE SPIRIT OF SOLITUDE. 

The spirit of soft Solitude and Prayer, 

Which broods o'er rocks and mountain 
crags and delis ; 
The boumling torrent or the Forest lair, 

Or where to mortal eye but wildness dwells; 
Natheless hath ever sweetly woo'd her own. 

Her kinch-ed spirits to withdraw with her. 
To where man s din and toil have ne'er been 
known. 

- Come," saith this wild fantastic minister, 
To Genius wrong'd or ill requiteil Love. 

The hapless outcast, homeless, and alone. 
To glutted pleasure nought can further move 

With o'er tried taste, and temper long sinc« 
gone ; 
'* Come, come with me to mine own paradiM 

Secluded home of Secret for your sighs." 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 



255 



ro L • ♦ 

When years *■ ve roU'd by and our pleasure 
or pa' J. 
hXl the ])"//'" in of youth is no more, 
-s thou -^ilt 'JJnk of this lone Utde chamber 

W^,m Lay hand was in mine first of yore. 

Where in trembling I taught thee to hear 

and repeat, 

The soft t.iie of the heart-stirring song ; 

Where in frenzy of rapture my temples would 

beat, 

As those accents were murmur'd along. 

Where thy half- parted lips to my transport 
confess'd, 
The endearing requital of love, 
Where thine arms in soft circling my bosom 
opprcss'd, 
The quick breath that thy whispers would 
move. 

V^liere in t--anspoit thy lips were fast bound 
upon mine, 
Till the life-breath was suck'd from its cell, 
And n-y heart was close press'd to that bosom 
',i thine, 
In (^ ilJght which no language could tell. 



WE LIVE TO LEARN, YET SLOWLY 
LEARN TO LIVE. 

An Epistle upon the Exohanqe of 

MUTUAL PfiESENTS. 

We live to learn, yet slowly learn to live ; 

So that our living yields us no return : 
jf^Te give, yet would not often vainly give ; 

Free giving's what we lose, or have to 
. leain ! 

4IMving and loving are antitheses, 
Strangely contrasted, as all being is ; 

For yet we'd stoop to crave upon our knees 
The very gift which makes us such as this. 

Are we not then like creatures with wry faces. 
Reflected from an hundred scraps of glass, 

With undulated surface, and whose traces 
Show like the monkey here— there like the 

8»? 



Thus much for me, not you ; • -the plumeless 
shaft. 
Which harmless satire huris, falls dead 
'gainst vou ; 
But mark it well • 'tis not wrought withoul 
craft, 
And may yet prove 'gainst some th6 aioa 
was Uue. 

I moralize; yet why not moralize, 
E'en o'er the little incidents of life ; 

It is on these we ponder to be wi^e, 
The greater bury our dissecting knife. 

Look at the ant ! she rears a mighty hill 
With little scraps of rubbish, one by one, 

And Socrates ha<l barely learnt his fill, 
Had he not thus pursued as thus begun. 

And 'tis, believe me, that which marks th# 
fool, 

If not the maniac, to attempt to grasp 
The gross of life within a puny rule; 

The jot is quite as much as we can clasp. 

In taking, then, this present, you receive 
A little scrap of rank philosophy, 

And in accepting vour's, 1 would believe, 
And do believe "there's better store for me. 

Thus we fulfil the rule I have set out : 

I.having learnt, have given to youforgain; 

You, without studying what you gave about. 
Have yielded substance to a flimsy straia 



TO F . 

Too fair for praise— too modest to believe it^ 
Too tnily meritorious to receive it, 
'Tis a hard task to know well what to do, 
When one is ask'd to write a song to you. 
Yet eulogy, when just, will reach Us aim. 
As nothing wounds like well adapted blame. 
And if the critic be himself but good, 
. His praise or blame is felt and understood. 
I am not such a one, and hence my praise 
Must be as worthless as such recreant lays; 
So that I can have nothing left to do, ^ 
But to present my compUmenu. Artjeu . 



256 



OCCASIOIsrAL PIECES. 



A TEAR. 

What matters it to those, my fellow men, 
That here the heart of one sad man be 
oroken ; 
Too far above my deep misfortune's ken, 
My distant sorrow wafts them scarce a 
token. 

Ah ! never, doubtless, never shall a tear 
Darken ; for them the brightness of the day. 

Tljeir future bodes them nothing dark or drear, 
Nc gall shall bid them cast their cup away. 

Ah ! never, doubtless, never shall yon throng 
Of listless idlers lounging in my way, 

In deep indomitable anguish long, 

To hear one breathe " I weep with thee 
to-day." 

Well then, let me no more so vainly seek 
Compassion from the selfish heart of man, 

iet me but feed my soul and bathe my cheek 
In grief — and hide my sorrow if I can ! 



TO MISS EMMA L- — 

ox FIKST HEARING HER SING. 

Where rural melodies in concert swell, 
At early dawn, or summer eventide. 

Deep in the calm of some sequester'd dell, 
I've listen'd, as the feather 'd loveis sighedL 

Upon the brink of Leman's tranquil tide. 

Whilst the wild notes of mountain-music 
flow'd 
Impassion'd forth, I've oft been won to b'd« 

Or heard some boatmen carol as they row "d. 

On fair Italia's olive mantled shore, 

Music's voluptuous roll hath charm *d my 
ear; 
I've heard the stanzas, chased by stanxas, 
pour, 
Attuned from many songsters, far and near. 

And with the fondest love of harmony, 

I've heard what nature and what art com- 
bine, 
And since I have heard you, nor know I why, 
Your voice hath taught anew this ear of 
mine 



A LINE OR TWO IN FRENCH, 

Suggested by Madame G at Coligny. 

FRIENDSHIP. 

O'fcST I'amiiie qui nous apprend k vivre 

C'est I'amitie qui nous rend sages et bona 
Tendre commerce a toi done je me livre 
Accorde moi de recueiUir tes dons. 

Que sont tous beaux plaisirs de la vie, 
Sans toi — sans toi, qui sais nous consoler. 

Hclas! la joie est trop souvent suivie, 

De queique chagrin qui doit nous dechirer. 

Ah ! c'est alors au milieu de nos larmes 
Quand le courage nous quitte pour la 
douleur. 

Ah I c'est alors qu'on doit sentir tes charmes, 
Ta voix cherie vient soulager nos pleurs. 

Comment sans toi pent on passer la teiTe , 
Comment sans toi chercher Teternile, 

Quand lo cl agrin de tous cotes nous serre, 
Pour nous fietrir de aa fatalite. 



SWEET STARS OF CLEAR AND 
CLOUDLESS NIGHT. 

Sweet stars of clear and cloudless night. 

Allow me to behold and weep. 
Your eyes are ever soft and bright :•■— 

Those eyes that never close in sleep.-*— 
In common this we have, to be 

Still wakeful when all else do rest : 
Besides, you seem to pity me. 

Your rays thus steal into my breast. 
Full liquidly their haloes beam 

And scatter light, like sighs, through tearsj^ 
I mark the sympathetic gleam, 

Or deem it such as it appears. 



CANZONE. 

How happy do I wish thee, and how sweet. 
The rapture I would see each hour repeat. 
Torn by the torture of excessive woe, 

Upon the rack of ceaseless pain ; 
My failing faculties still glow. 
To breathe to heaven this impl<x ing stnok 



OCCASIONAL PIJCCES. 



257 



* have no longer an identity : — 
All of myself is mingled up in thee, 

And IS a drop of rain 
That falls upon the stream, flows on unsed 
And lost in greater waters, — so my soul 
tiath lost its life, once separate, in ihiue. 

It struggled, but in vain 
To liberate its being — to console 
Us desolation, cease to pine 
And be as joyous as it might have been; 
Bvit ail its strength pour'd out upon a tear,^ 
fo swell the endless stream of anguish flowing 

near. 
And now the power it has sighs on for thee, 
Pours fortli on high for thy prosperity 
The eloquence of sufFering and of love, 
Unheard on earll, but ne'er repulsed above. 



CONDOLATORY ADDRESS 

TO 9AKAH COtTNTESS OF JERSEY, ON THE 

TOI^CE beubnt's beturning her picture 

TO MRS. MEE. 

When the vain triumph of the imperial lord, 
Whom servile Rome obey'd and yet abhorr'd, 
Gave to the vulgar gaze each glorious bust, 
That left a likeness of the brave, or just ; 
What most admired each scmtinising eye 
Of all that deck'd that passing pageantry ? 
What spread from face to face that wondering 
air? , , 

The thought of Brutus— for his was not there '. 
That absence proved his worth, — that absence 

fixd 
His memory on the longing mind, unmix d; 
And more decreed his glory to endure. 
Than all a gold Colossus could secure. 
If thus, fair Jersey, our desiring gaze 
Search for thy form, in vain and mute amaze, 
A midst those pictured charms,whose loveliness, 
Bright though they be, thine own had render'd 

less : . 

If he, that vain old man, whom truth admits 
Heir of his father's crown, and of his wits. 
If his corrupted eye, and wither'd heart. 
Could with thy gentle image bear depart ; 
That tasteless shame be his, and ours the grief, 
To gaze on Beauty's band without its chief: 
ret comfort still one selfish thought imparts, 
We lose the portrait, but preserve our hearts. 
What can his vaulted gallery now disclose? 
i garden with all flower*— except the rose;— 

18 



A fount that only wants its living streiun ; 
A night, with everj star, save Dians beam. 
Lost to our eyes the present forms shall be. 
That turn from tracing them to dream of the* ; 
And more on that recall'd resemblance pause, 
Than all he shall not force on our applause. 

Long may thy yet meridian lustre shine 
Witli all that Virtue asks of Homage thine ; 
The symmetry of youth — the grace of mien- 
The eye that gladdens— and tht brow sewne 
The glossy darkness of that clustering hair, 
Which shades, yei shows that forehead m(>rf 
than fair! [throws 

Each glance that wins us, and the life tha 
A spell which will not let our looks repose. 
But turn to gaze again, and find anew 
Some chai-m that well rewards another view. 
These are not lessen'd, these are still as bright, 
Albeit too dazzling for a dotard's sight ; 
And those must wait till ev'ry charm is gone. 
To please the paltry heart that pleases none . — 
That dull cold sensualist, whose sickly eye 
In envious dimness pass'd thy portrait by ; 
Who rack'd his little spirit to combine 
Its hate of Freedom' & loveliness, and thine. 

August, 1814. 



ANTITHESES. 

Where rivers smoothest run, deep are tht 
fords : 
The dial stirs, yet none perceive it move ; 
The firmest faith is in the fewest words; 

The turtles cannot sing, and yet thej lov^ 
True hearts have eyes and ears, no tongues 

to speak ; 
They hear, and see and sigh ; and then th«y 
break. 



AN IMITATION. 

A BMTHE and bonny country lass, 

Heigh ho ! bonny lass ; 
Sate sighing on the tender grass, 

And, weeping, said : — " Will none 
woo me ?" 
A smicker boy, a lither swain. 

Heigh ho ! a smicker swain ; 
Thnt in his love was wanton, fain. 

With smiling looks, came straight unti 



258 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 



When, as the wanton wench espied, 
Heigh ho ! when she espied 

The means to make herself a bride, 
She simper'd smooth, hkc bonny belL 



STANZAS FOR MUSIC. 31 



O Lachrymarum fons, tenero sacros 
Ducentium ortus ex animo : quater 
Felix I in imo qui scatentem 
Pectore tc, pia Nyinpha, sensit." 

Gray's Poemai* 



ELEGIAC STANZAS ON THE DEATH 
OF SIR PETER PARKER, BART.30 

There is a tear for all that die, 

A mourner o'er the humblest gi-ave ; 

But nations swell the funeral cry, 
And Triumph weeps above the brave. 

For them is Sorrow's purest sigh 
O'er Ocean's heaving bosom sent : 

In vaui their bones unburied lie, 
Al' eai'th becomes their monument ' 

A tci^nb is theirs on eveiy page, 

An epitaph on every tongue ; 
The present hours, the future age. 

For them bewail, to them belong. 

For them the voice of festal mirth 

Glows hush'd, their name the only sound • 

While deep Remembrance pours to Worth 
The goblet's tributary round. 

A theme to crowds that knew them not 

Lamented by admiring foes, 
Who would not share their glorious lot. 

Who would not die the death they chose? 

And gallant Parker ! dius enshnned 
Thy life, thy fall, thy fame shall be; 

A/id early valour, glowing, find 
A model in thy memory. 

Bat there are breasts tnat bleed with theo 
In woe, that glory cannot quell; 
nd shuddering hear of victory, 
Where one so dear, so dauntless, fell. 

Where shall they turn to mourn thee less? 

When cease to hear thy chenshd name? 
Time cannot teach forgetful ness, 

Wliile Griefs full heart is fed by Fame. 

Alas ! for them, though not for thee. 

They cannot choose but weep the more ) 

Deep for the dead the giief must be. 
Who ne'er gave cause to mourn before. 

October, ISU. 



There s not a joy the worln can give 1L'*| 

that it takes away, 
When the glow of early thought declines in 

feeling's dull decay ; 
'T is not on youth's smooth cheek the blush 

alone, which fades so fast, 
But the tender bloom of heart is gone, era 

youth itself be past. 

Then the few whose spirits float above the waeck 

of happiness 
Are driven o'er the shoals of guilt or ocean ol 

excess : 
The magnet of their course is gone, or onlj 

points in vain 
The shore to which their shiver'd sail shall 

never stretch again. 

Then the mortal coldness of the soul like death 

itself comes down ; 
It cannot feel for others' woes, it dare not 

dream its own ; 
That heavy chill has frozen o'er the fountain 

of our tears, 
And though the eye may sparkle still, 't is 

M here the ice appears. 

Though wit may flash from fluent lips, an^ 

mirth distract the breast. 
Through midnight hours that yield no more 

their Ibnner hopes of rest ; 
*T is but as ivy-leaves around the ruin'd turret 

wreath. 
All green and wildly fresh without, but worn 

and grey beneath. 



Ol could I feel as I hav; ' t\ — or be what 1 

have been, 
Or wee]) as I could once have wept, o'ermany 

a vanish'd scene ; 
As springs in deserts found seem sweet, all 

brackish though they be, 
So midst the wither'd wast«of Ife, those tcitn 

would flow to me. 

March, 181*. 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 



259 



STANZAS FOR MUSIC. 

There be none of Beauty's daughters 

With a magic like thee; 
And liiie music on the waters 

Is thy sweet voice to me : 
When, as if its sound were causing 
The charmed ocean's pausing 
The waves lie still and gleaming, 
And the lull'd winds seem dreaming. 

And the midnight moon is weaving 
Her bright chain o'er the deep ; 

Whose breast is gently heaving, 
As an infant's asleep: 

So the spirit bows before thee. 

To listen and adore thee ; 

With a full but soft emotion, 

Like the swell of Summer's ocean. 



FAME AND FORTUNE. 

Let dull 'jraiu'd slaves contend for mud and 
fir'^h; [and stones; 

Let ? lockf. and stones sweat but for blocks 
Let. v 'isants speak of plenty and of dearth ; 

F'une never looks so low as on these drones ! 
Let Courage manage empires, sit on thrones ! 
An-j he that Fortune at command will keep. 
He must be sure he never let her sleep. 



ODE FROM THE FRENCH. 



We do not c>arse the^, Waterloo ! 
Thougli Freedom's blood thy plain bedew; 
There 't was shed, but is not sunk — 
Rising from each f;on,' trunk, 
Like the water-spout from ocean, 
With a strong and growing motion- 
It soars, an'i raij-^les in the air, . 
With that of Inst Labedoyere — 
With that of nim whose honour 'd grave 
Contains the " bravest of the brave," 
A crimson cioud it spreads and glows, 
But shall return from whence it rose : 
When 't is full 't will burst asunder — 
Never yet was heard such thunde'r, 
As then shall shake the world with wonder- 
Never yet was seen such lightning 
As Wer heaven shall then be brigut'ning ! 
Like the Wormwood Star foretold 
Bjr the sain ted Seer of old, 



Show'ring down a fiery flood, 

Turning rivers into blood.33 



The chief has fallen, but not by jroo. 

Vanquishers of Waterloo! 

When the soldier citizen 

Sway'd not o'er his fellow-men — 

Save in aeeds that led ihem on 

Where Glory smiled on Freedom's son— 

Who, of all the despots banded. 

With that youthful chief competed? 

Who could boast o'er France defeats i. 
Till lone 'J'yranny commanded ? 
Till, goaded by ambition's sting. 
The Hero sunk into the King ? 
Then he fell : — so perish all, 
Who would men 'jy man enthrall ! 

III. 

And thou, too, of the snow-white plume . 
Whose realm refused thee ev'n a tomb:^'' 
Better hadst thou still been leading 
France o'er hosts of hirelings bleeding, 
Than sold thyself to death and shame 
For a meanly royal name; 
Such as he of Naples wears, 
Who thy blood-bought title beai's. 
Little didst thou deem, when dasning 

On thy war-hqjse through the ranks 

Like a stream which biu'-sts its banks. 
While helmets cleft, and sabres clashing, 
Shone and shiver'd fast around thee— 
Of the fate at last which found thee: 
Was that haughty plume laid low 
By a slave's dishonest blow? 
Once — as ihe Moon sways o'er the tide, 
It roU'd in air, the warrior's gnide , 
Through the smoke-created night 
Of the black and sulphurous fight, 
The soldier raised his seeking eye 
To caich that crest's ascendency— 
And as it onward rolling rose. 
So moved his heart upon our foes. 
There, where death'sbrief pang was quick ur 
And the battle's wreck lay thickest, 
Strew'd beneath the advancing banner 

Of the eagle's burning crest — 
(There with thunder-clouds to fan her, 
ffho could then her wings aiTest— • 

Victory beaming from her breast?) 
V^Tiile the broken line enlarging 

Fell, or fled along the plain ; 
There be sure was Murat charging ! 

There he ne'er shall chaj-ge again t 
s 3 



260 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 



O'er glories gone the invaders march, 

Weeps Triumph o'er each levell'd ai'ch^ 

But let Freedom rejoice, 

With her heart in her voice ; 

!But, her liand on her sword, 

Doubly shall she be adored; 

France hath twice too well been taught 

The " moral lesson " dearly bought^ 

IJer safety sits not on a throne, 

With Capet or Napoleon I 

But in equal rights and laws, 

Hearts and hands in one great cause — 

Freedom, such as God hath given 

Unto all beneath his heaven, 

With their breath, and from their birth, 

Though Guilt would sweep it from tlie eai'th 

With a fierce and lavish hand 

Scattering nations wealth like sand ; 

Pouring nations' blood like water, 

In imperial seas of slaughter ! 



But the heart and the mind, 
And the voice of mankind, 
Shall arise in communion — 
And who shall resist that proud union? 
The time is past when swords subdued- 
Man may die — the soul 's renew 'd • 
Even in this low world pf care 
Freedom ne'er shall want an heir; 
Millions breathe but to inherit 
Her for ever bounding spirit — 
When once more her hosts assemble, 
Tyrants shall believe and tremble — 
Smile they at this idle threat ? 
Crimson tears will Ibllow yet. 



FROM THE FEENCH. 

Must thou go. my glorious Chief,34 

Sever'd from thy faithful few? 
Who can tell thy warrior's gi'ief, 

Maddening o'er that long adieu ? 
Woman's love, and friendship's zeal, 

Dear as both have been to me — 
What are they to all 1 feci, 

With a soldier's laith for thee ? 

Id*)' of the soldier's soul ! 

F'-rst in fight, but mightiest now: 
M uiv could a world control ; 

Taee aione no doom can bow. 



By thy side for yeais I dared 

Death ; and envied those who feD, 

When their dying shout was heard. 
Blessing him they served so urell.M 

Would that I were cold with those, 

Since this hour I live to see ; 
When the doubts of coward fees 

Scarce dare trust a man with thee. 
Dreading each should set thee free ! 

Oh ! although in dungeons pent, 
All their chains were light to me. 

Gazing on thy soul unbent. 

Would the sycophants of him 

Now so deaf to duty's prayer. 
Were his boiTow'd glories dim. 

In his native darkness share? 
Were that world this hour his own. 

All thou calmly dost resign. 
Could he purchase with that throne 

Hearts like those which still are thine t 

My chief, my king, my friend, adieu ! 

Never did I droop before ; 
Never to my sovereign sue. 

As his foes I now implore : 
All I ask is to divide 

Every peril he must brave ; 
Sharing by the hero's side 

His fall, his exile, and his grava 



ON THE STAR OF "THE LEGION CI 
HONOUR- 
PROM THE FRENCH. 

Star of the brave ! — whose beam hath shed 
Such glory o'er the quick and dead — 
Thou radiant and adored deceit ! 
Which millions rush'd in arms to greet,— 
Wild meteor of immortal birth ! 
Why nse in Heaven to set on Earth? 

Souls of slain heroes form'd thy rays ; 
Ete<n"ty flash'd through thy blaze 
The music of thy martial sphere 
Was fame on high and honour here ; 
And thy light broke on human eyr», 
Like a volcano of the skies. 

Like lava roll'd thy stream of blood, 
And swept down empires with ..s hwu; 
Earth rock'd beneath thee to her base. 
As thou didst lighte n through all spao« ; 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 



261 



And the shorn Sun gi-ew dim in air, 
And set while thou wart dwelling there. 

Before thee rose, and with thee grew, 

A rainbow of the loveliest hue 

Of three bnght colours,^^ each divine, 

And fit for that celcsiial sign; 

For Freedom's hand had blended them, 

Like tints in an immortal gem. 

One tint was of the sunbeam's dyes ; 
One, the blue depth of Seraph's eyes ; 
One, the pure Spirit's veil of white 
Had robed m radiance of its light: 
The three sij mingled did beseem 
The texture of a heavenly dream. 

Star of the brave ! thy ray is pale, 
And darkness must again prevail ! 
But, oh th Ml Rainbow of the free! 
Our tears and blood must flow for thee. 
A\Tien thy bright promise fades away, 
Our life is but a load of clay. 

And Freedom hallows with her tiead 
The silent cities of the dead; 
For beautiful in death are they 
Who proudly fall in her an ay ; 
And soon, oh Goddess ! may we be 
For evermore with them or thee ! 



Oh ! for the veteran hearts that were wasted 
In strife with the stomi, when their battle« 

were won— [was blasted 

Then the Eagle, whose gaze in that momen< 
Had still soar'd with eyes fix'd on victory's 

sun! 

Farewell to thee, France . — but when Liberty 

rallies 
Once more in thy regions, remember me then— 
The violet still gi-ows in the depth of thy 

valleys ; 
Though wither'd, thy tear will tuifold it agam— 
Yet, yet, I may baffle the hosts thatsuiToundus 
And yet may thy heart leap awake to my 

voice — 
There are links which must break in the 

chain that has bound us, [choice 

Th€7i turn thee and call on the Chief of thf 



AN EPITAPH. 

You that seek what life is in death, 
Now find it air that once was breath. 
New names unknown — old names gone: 
Till time end bodies, and souls none. 

Reader use your time, — there be 

Few steps to your eternity. 



NAPOLEON'S FAREWELL. 

FROM THE FRENCH. 

Farewell to the Land, where the gloom of 

my Glory [name — 

A lose and o'ershadow'd the earth with her 
8he abandons me now — but the page of her 

story, [fame. 

The biightest or blackest, is fill'd with my 
I have wan'd with a world which vanquish'd 

me only far; 

When the meteor of conquest allured me too 
I have coped with the nations which dread 

me thus lonely, 
The last single Captive to millions in war. 

Farewell to thee, France ! when thy diadem 

crown'd me, 
I made thee the gem and the wonder of earth, — 
But thy weakness decrees I should leave as I 

♦bund thee, 
Decay'd in thy glory, and sunk in thy worth. 



DARKNESS. 

I HAD a dream, which was not all a dream 
The bright sun was extinguished, and the stars 
Did wander darkling in the eternal space, 
Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth [air. 
Swung blind and blackening in the moonless 
Morn came and went — and came, and brought 

no day, 
And men forgot their passions in the dread 
Of this their desolation ; and all hearts 
Were chill'd into a selfish prayer for light : 
And they did live by watchfires — and tha 

thrones, 
The palaces of crowned kings — the huts, 
The habitations of all things which dwell. 
Were burnt for beacons; cities were consumed. 
And men were gather'd round their blazing 

homes 
To look once more into each other's face ; 
Happy were those who dw-elt within tlie fcy« 
Of the volcanos, and their mountain-torch : 
A fearful hope was all the world contain'd ; 



262 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 



Forests were set on fire — ^but hour by hout 
They fell iiiid faded— and the craclvling trunks 
Extmguish'd with a crash — and all was black. 
The brows of men by the despairing light 
Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits 
The flashes fell upon them ; some lay down 
And hid their eyes and wept; and some did 
rest [smiled; 

Their chins upon their clenched hands, and 
And others huriicd to and fro, and fed 
Their funeral piles with fuel, and look'd up 
Wiih mad disquietude on the dull sky. 
The pall of a past world ; and then again 
With curses cast them down upon the dust. 
And gnash'd their teeth and howl'd : the wild 

birds shriek'd. 
And, ten-ified, did flutter on the ground. 
And flap their useless wings ; the wildest brutes 
Came tame and tremulous; and vipers craAvl'd 
And twined themselves among the multitude, 
Hissing, but stingless — they were slain for 

food: 
^.nd War, which for a moment was no more, 
Dili glut himself again ; — a meal was bought 
With blood, and each sate sullenly apart 
gorging himself in gloom: no love was left; 
All earth was but one thought — and that was 

death. 
Immediate and inglorious; and the pang 
Of famine fed upon all entrails — men [flesh ; 
Died, aj^d their bones were tombless as their 
I'he meagre by the meagre were devour 'd. 
Even dogs ass'ail'd their masters, all save one. 
And he was faithful to a corse, and kept 
The birds and beasts andfamish'd men atbay 
Till hunger clung them, or the dropping dead 
Lured their lank jaws; himself sought out no 

food, 
But with a piteous and per]-»etual moan, 
And a quick desolate cry, hcking the hand 
Which answer'd not with a caress — he d'.?i. 
The crowd was fam'ish'd by degi-ees ; but two 
Of an enormous city did survive, 
And they were enemies : they met beside 
The dying embers of an altar-place 
Where had been heap'd a mass of holy things 
For an unholy usage ; they raked up, [hands 
And shivering scraped with their cold skeleton 
The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath 
Blew for a little life, and made a flame 
Which was a mockery; then they lifted up 
Their eyes as it grew lighter, and behel J 
Each other's aspects — saw, and shriek'd, and 

died— 
Even of their mutual hideousness they di-^d, 
Diibuowing who he was upon whose brow 



Famine had written Fiend. Tbt ."vuf^i was 

void. 
The populous and the powerful was alurai;> 
Seasoniess, herbless, treeless, maaless, life'.e&v— 
A lump of death — a chaos of hard clay. 
The rivers, lakes, and ocean, all stood still. 
And nothing stin-'d within their silent depths 
vShips sailorless lay rotting on the sea, 
And their masts fell down piecemeal ; asth / 

dropp'd 
They slept on the abyss without a surge — 
The waves were dead ; the tides were in the.t 

grave. 
The Moon, their mistress, had expired before , 
The winds were wither'd in the stagnant aii. 
And the clouds perish'd ! Daikness had no 

need 
Of aid from them — She was the Universe. 

Diodati, July, 18 IC. 



CHURCHILL'S GRAVE ; 

I STOOD beside the gi-ave of him wboblazed 

The comet of a season, and I saw 
The humblest of all sepulchres, and gazeil 

With not the less of soi-row and of awe 
On that neglected turf and quiet stone, 
With name no clearer than the names un- 
known. 
Which lay unread around it ; and I ask'd 

The Gardener of that gi'ound, why itmightbe 
That for thisplajit strangers his memory task'd 

Through the thick deaths of half a centmy? 
And thus he answer'd — " Well, I do not know 
"Why frequent travellers turn to pilgiims so , 
He died before my day of Sextonship, 

And I had not the digging of this grave." 
And is this all ? I thought, — and do we rip 

The veil of Immortality ? and crave 
I know not what of honour and of light 
Through unborn ages, to endure this blight? 
So soon, and so successless? As I said. 
The Architect of all on which we tread, 
For earth is but a tombstone, did essay 
T'o extricate remembrance from the clay, 
Whose minglinga might confuse a Newton 
thought, 

Wt-re it not that all life must end in one, 
Of which we are but dreamers ;— as he caught 
As 'twere the twilight of a former Sun, 
Thus spoke he,— "I believe the man of whom 
You wot, who lies in this selected tomb, 
"Was a most famous writer in liis day, [^^aj 
And therefore travellers step from out theto 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 



263 



It j«y him honour, — and myself whate'er 
1 nur honour pleases," — then most pleased 
I shook 
From out my pocket's avaricious nook 
Some certain coins of silver, which as twere 
Perforce I gave this man, though I could spare 
Si) much but inconveniently : — Ye smile, 
I see ye, ye profane ones ! all the while, 
Because my homely phrase Uio truth would tell. 
Vou are the fools, not I — for I did dwell 
With a deep thought, and with a soften'd eye, 
On that Old Sexton's natural homily, 
In w hich there was Obscurity and Fame, — 
The Gloiy and the Nothing of a Name. 

Diodati, 1816. 



PROMETHEUS. 

Titan ! to whose immortal eyes 

The sutferiugs of mortality, 

Seen in their sad reality, 
Were not as things that gods despise ; 
^^*hat was thy pity's recompense? 
A silent suffering, and intense ; 
The rock, the vultm-e, and the chain, 
All that the proud can feel of pain, 
The agony they do not show 
The suffocating sense of woe, 

W'hich speaks but in its loneliness, 
And then is jealous lest the sky 
Shoidd have a listener, nor will sigh 

Until its voice is echoless. 

Titan ! to thee the strife was given 
Between the suffering and the will, 
WTiich torture where they cannot kill ; 
And the inexorable Heaven, 
And the deaf tyranny of Fate, 
The ruhng principle of Hate, 
MTiich for its pleasure doth create 
Tne things it may annihilate, 
Refused thee even the boon to die : 
The wi-etchcd gift eternity 
Was thine — and thou hast borne it well. 
All that the Thunderer wrung from thee 
W^as out the menace which flung back 
On him the torments of thy rack ; 
The fate thou didst so well foresee. 
But would not to apjiease him tell ; 
And in thy Silence was his Sentence, 
And in his vSoul a vain repentance. 
And evil dread so ill dissembled, 
"Tiat in his hand the lightnings trembled 



Thy Godlike crime was to be kind. 

To render with thy precepts l(.ss 

The sum of human wretchedntss, 
And strength^) Man with his own mind ; 
But baffled as thou wcrt from high, 
Still in thy patient energy-. 
In the endurance, and repulse 

Of thine impenetrable Spirit, 
W'hich Earth and Heaven could not convtik 

A mighty lesson we inheiit • 
Thou art a symliol and a sign 

To mortals of their fate and force ; 
Like thee, Man is in part divine, 

A troubled stream from a pure source; 
A)id Man in portions can foresee 
His own funereal destiny ; 
His wretchedness, and his resistance. 
And his sad unallied existence : 
To which his Spirit may oppose 
Itself — and equal to all woes, 

And a hrm will, and a deep sense. 
Which even in torture can descry 

Its own concenter'd recompense. 
Triumphant where it dares defy. 
And making Death a Victoiy 

Piodati, July, 1810, 



A FRAGMENT 

Could I remount the river of my years 
To the first fountain of our smiles and tears, 
I would not trace again the stream of hours 
Between their outworn lianks of witlier'd 

fiowers. 
But bid it ilow as now — until it glides 
Into the number of the nameless tides. * • • 

What is this Death? — a quiet of the heart? 
The whole of that of which we are a pait? 
For life is but a vision — what I see 
Of all which lives alone is life to me. 
And being so — the absent are the dead, 
Who haunt us from tranquillity, and spread 
A dreary shroud around us, and invest 
With sad remembrancers our hours of rest. 

The absent are the dead — for they are cold 
And ne'er caa be what once we did behold : 
And they are changed, and cheerless,— ox '; 

yet 
The unforgotten do not all forget. 
Since thus divided — equal must it be 
If the deep barrier be of earth, or sea ; 
It may be both — but one day end it must 
In the dark union of insensate dust 



264 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 



The iinder-earth inhab' tants — are they 
But mingled millions decomposed to clay ? 
The ashes of a thousand ages spread 
Wherever man has trodden or shall tread ? 
Or do they in their silent cities dwell 
Each in his incommunicative cell? 
Or have they their own language ? and a sense 
Of breathless being? — darken'd and intense 
As midnight in her solitude? — Oh Earth ! 
Where are the past ? — and wherefore had they 

biith? 
The dead are thy inhentors — and we 
But bubbles on thy surface ; and the key 
Of thy profundity is in the grave, 
The ebon portal of thy peopled cave, 
Where I would walk in spirit, and behold 
Our elements resolved to things untold, 
And fathom hidden wonders, and explore 
The essence of great bosoms now no more. * * 
Diodati, July, 1816. 



SONNET TO LAKE LEMAN. 

Rousseau — Voltaire — our Gibbon — and De 

Stael — [shore, 

Leman 3' ! these names are worthy of thy 

Thy shore of names like these ! wert thou 

no more, 

Their memory thy remembrance would recall : 

To them thy banks were lovely as to all, 

But they have made them lovelier, for the 

lore 
Of mighty minds doth hallow in the core 
Of human hearts the ruin of a wall 

Where dwelt the wise and wondrous ; but 
by thee, 
How much more, Lake of Beauty! do we feel. 

In sweetly gliding o'er thy crystal sea. 
The wild glow of ijiat not ungentle zeal, 

Which of the heirs of immortality 
In proud, and makes the breath of glory real ! 
Diodati, July, 1816. 



LINES INSCRIBED IN A LADY'S 
ALBUM. 

#BEE my career far brighter still than 
aught I have to boast, 
T would barely, then, deserve to fill some 
refuse page, at most ; 
But as it is, ah 1 how is this? 
Entitled to a place, [grace ? 

Where that which occupies, at least should 



Some bards have wri^cn worthily up n as fan 

a leaf, 
And taught an after-age to feel their pleasure 

or their grief, 
And won llie ears, and wrung the tears 
From more obdurate eyes ; 
Yet such a power shall never reacn my sigiis. 

It were no humble doom to sing and to l>i 

listen'd to, 
And thus to write, could I be read and treasured 

up by you. 
But were it not a prouder lot 
To write as I do now. 
Did some presentive glory gird my brow? 

To you alone it must be, then, with gnawing 

pride I own, [/er alone, 

I have to owe the honour which I would con- 

I thank you too as I should do 
For this my little nook. 
Which 'twere my boast to merit in your bock. 



FRAGMENT OF A PARAPHRASE OF 
PSALM CXXXVII. 

By the still streams of Babylon, 
We mutely sat and spent thereon, 
And sent thereby our hapless tears. 
And sighs, to neighbour-lands and ears 
When our afflicting enemy, 
Reneweth fresh our memory, 
Set our sad mind to muse upon 
Poor Sion's desolation. 



LIFE, 

Ah life ! gweet drop drowned in a sea o( 

sours, 
A flying good, posting to doiibtful end; 
Still loving months and years, to gain new 

hours ; 
Fain time to have and spare, yet forced to 

spend ; 
The giv.vth decrease a moment, all thou 

hast ; 
That gone, are known the rest to come, M 

past. 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 



265 



WARM AS THE CLOUDLESS 

SUMMER MORxV. 

Warm as the cloudless summer morn, 

And full as hopeful loo, 
rhe visions that in youth were born, 

And dazzled ere they flew. 

Bright as the ruddy eYening sky, 
Those dreams portray'd the world ; 

Yet all those colours seem'd to die, 
Fast as the scroll uufurl'd. 

Calm as the moonbeam on yon lake, 

WTiose glassy face is still, 
Did lying Hope the Future make, 

To conjure at her will. 

Sweet as the fitful evening breeze, 
With weight of perfume slow; 

imagination — breathing ease, 
Foretold young life would flow. 

Cold as the bitter north-east wind. 
That blights where'er it blows ; 

The blasts that check us 'mongst mankind, 
And chill us in our woes. 

Dark as the coming stormy cloud, 

That Future when it came ; 
Whilst Slander, as its thunders loud, 

Would crush young struggling fame. 



There is no hair upon this shadowy kjad 
That hiith not droop'd e'en as the spring, 
tide grass, 
When sNvift above the scythe too keenly sped ! 

There is no love within me left, alas ! 
Which hath not yet been reft of what it loved. 
There 's not one hope, one vision, one desire, 
Which has not perish'd fruiUess and di*. 
proved .' 
• * • • • 

Thou Suffering, art man's great fashioner. 

E'en as the flame will e'er attemper steel ; 
Ay ! as the whetstone, blackcn'd with the burr, 

Torn from the iron by the glowing wheel. 
Quickens the edge of the relentless sword ! 
He who has shown thee not, thou Master, 
Pain, 
Yei knows no more of Life but the bare word,— 

He idly floats on Life as he, amain, 
Might float upon the sleepy summer cloud.— 
There's nought to maik the track in his 
career, 
Too vainly foUow'd to be yet avow'd. 

Nor sweat from off his brow nor e'en s 
tear 
Hath trickled down to damp the toilsome hand. 
His foot hath ne er been bruised upon the 
stones, 
That strew the way. • • 

• • * • « 

Nor knows he how when dangers c^oae his way, 
To make these very dangers serve his svay. 



R%>ngli as the angry ocean's wave. 
The present arives us on, 

To live or die, to sink or save. 
But reckless flesh and bone. 



Fond hopes are easily believed. 
Good maxims safely given ; 

Who trust the first, will be deceived. 
The last are dreams of Heaven ! 



AH ! TRIUMPH SORROW! 

All ! triumph Sorrow . There is no one string 
Within this heart of mine, that hath not rung 

Its shrill vibrations out to suffering ; 
There is no chord thou hast not soieljr 
«truDf, 



Those mighty strides, those voices, and thos* 
cries, 
With all the endless uproar of the Earth, 
Shall die away, nor shock the silent skies ; 

And each new generation at its birth 
Shall learn contempt, for what was deen 'J 
sublime, 
And mute disdain for what erswhiU vfju 
grand ; 
And each successive age in every cliir.«, 

In every zone or province, isle, or 'and, 
Shall see eternal silence floating o'er 

The wretched Past, with still and mjiVf 
wings. 
Wrap up man's noisy grentncss.witll his lori ; 
And gag for aye your Rulers and your KSngi 
So not an echo shall revive them more. 



266 



ATTRIBUTED PIECES. 



INKZ DE CASTRO. 



A DRAMA no FRAGMENT. 

Thr melancholy story of Inez de Castro is too 
notorious in history to require any recapitulation. 
It would seem, that as early as the year I816, 
Lord Byron projected something like a tragedy, 
founded upon this material ; but whether it was 
ever carried further than the scene inserted here, 
is difficult to determine. This fragment is in- 
serted rather as a literary curiosity than on any 
ctner account. 

ACT I. 



Don Pedro (entering stealthily and musing 
abstractedly J 
What fond association draws me hither ? 
What uncontrollable affection binds 
And ties me to this spot, whilst something sad 
Foreshadowing of ills I dare not dread 
So drearily proclaims tke. spot is curst? 
Fearing those restless visions should be true. 
Perchance I come to see their thread fulfiU'd 
.nsensibly and as against my will 
My anxious steps in failing bear me on 
Yet wh}' these presages ? why do we harp 
Upon the ills our fancy frames in dream ? 
Why do we dwell with such precise fore- 
thoughts 
Upon the phantom torments that beset us ? 
Have we not in reality enough 
To occupy the workings of the soul 
That we so seek to make the future tell 
Such secrets as are better left untold ? 
Yet is this Reason svhich controls my thoughts? 
Tis Sophistry ! the Sophistry of Hope I — 
Yet why? — Why not believe it for my good? 
Ah ! that I could ! That this belief could 

yield 
A moment's ease to my tormented soul ' 
TLat with this sweet assurance, true or false, 
A svreeier sleep could teach me to forget 
The dread that weighs upon me day and 

night. 
Va saints who witness, pity my distress 
And thou, pure Maiden-mother, deign to look 
C'n injured innocence, to pity her. 
To plead for her nu high and to protect ! 
Angels accord compassion to these tears. 
And plead more purely my unworthy prayers 
To win of heavenly solicitude. 
The blessings due to virtue and to her 
Ani pour those blessings on' her — chsrisb 

her — 
Shelter and guard- 



Inez. (approaching unperceived by kimj 

They ever do protect her. 
Don Pedro. Inez ! 
Inez. Ah ! Prince ! 

Don Pedro (apart) What luckless wretci 
am I 
To love and ruin so much worth and beauty? 
Inez. Why turn thus from me Prince 
Do cares of state 
Pursue you in this kindred solitude, 
And rob me even here of a caicss? 
Can the oppressive load of great affairs 
Preoccupy you e'en in this retreat? 
It was once not so, Prince. 

Don Pedro. Oh pity me ! 

Great God, have mercy on me and my sins." 
Inez. I leave you, Piince, since greater 
cares absorb 
And turn your thoughts from me, and sinc« 

my voice. 
Once as I fondly deem'd so dear to you 
Obtrudes itself upon some worthier theme, 
And finds a cold repulse. 

Don Pedro, [seizing her hand.) Cold said's* 
thou, Inez? 
In pity charge me not with that: my crime, 
If I be guilty, hath not been in coldness. 
Repulse thee, Inez could I once do that 
Thou mighfst yet live secure, and I, at ease. 
Survive to see thee happy yet once moi-e. 
Repulse thee, Inez ! — hear me — could I speak— 
This anguisli — 

Inez, {gently resting her hand upon hit 
shoulder). Dearest husband, be but 
calm. 
Don Pedro. Oh, Inez, spare me now at 

least that name. 
Inez. What ! mu-st I then forget it in thy 
grief" 
Hast thou forgotten that 1 am thy wife : — 
Then when, as now, thine eye erewhile so soft 
In darkening flushes anguish from thy brow:— 
That when thy cheek convulsed with agony 
Betrays the secret throe, when thy wan lip 
Tells of some parching fever that consumei 

thee 
I should forget it is my part to soothe thee ! 
Don Pedro. Is kindness such as this r©. 

served for villains ? 
Inez. Villains ! 

Don Pedro. Yes! Inez, such a wretch ami! 

Inez. I loved no villain, Pedro, but a Prince 

Don Pedro. Prince! — Prince of Hell ! 'tis 

that that makes me A'illain 

Hadst thou but sought to number o\s. thj 

wrongs 



ATTRIBUTED PIECES. 



261 



And beap reproach upon my suffering, 
That one word Prince .... 

Had wreak'd thy curse upon me! 
But hear me, Inez. Dost thou fondly deem 
That Royalty and Virtue are the same ? 
That Goodness is the Birthright of a Throne;— 
Hereditary, like its cares and power : — 
That kings and sons of kings inherit this 
As an appendage to their jewell'd crown? 
'Tis in tiiine innocence to think it so; 
'Tis in thy gentleness to look on them 
As on the model in thy purer soul ; — 
But I will show thee — 

■ . . Blessed Mary, help me !— 

Inez. Nay tell me what atiiicts thee ; let 
me share, 
Participate in, if I cannot soothe 
And charm away thy sorrow. There must be 
Some fearful cause to wringsuch sighs from ihee, 
Thou wert not wont to speak so sternly to me. 

Don Pedro. Sternly ? Did 1 speak sternly 
Inez? No! 
I could not, would not be thus harsh with thee, 
I would not add this to thy many wrongs. 

Inez. What wrongs ? I sufler none of thee. 

Don Pedro. Oh, God ! 

Is't thus that innocence oppress'd upbraids 
Our conscious guilt with sweet forbearance? 

Inez. What guilt? What innocence? Col- 
lect thyself. 
The multitude of cai'cs I wot not of. 
Hath conjured up some melancholy dream 
That mocks and tortures thee ; for are we not 
Both innocent, both pure and faithful too ? 
But tell me, what it is that wounds thee so; 
The time was when thou wert not wont to feed 
Thy sorrows or thy joys in secrecy : — 
From that enchanting hour when first I learnt 
To think of thee apart from all mankind.. 
As something nobler and more eminent, 
Till now, I never knew iliee thus reserved. 
(f anything had charm'd thee 'twas for me; 
Zf dangers had been run they were for me; 
ff honour gain'd, 'twas tender"d at my fett; 
If glory and renown pronounced thee Great, 
I knew and felt they had been earn'd for me, 
AnJ 'midst thy toil a single thought of me 
Could renovate thy drooping energies. 
Thine were no false professions, empty words, 
Or senseless declarations, but deep moved 
By powerful emotions sucli as mine. 
If anything had cross'd or harass'd thee, 
Et was to me the secret was disclosed, 
As if thy heart by natural sympathy 
Had been assured it had a kindred life, 
k ki&dred sensibility in mine. 



Don Pedro. Heavens! 
Inez. Can it be, thy confiden' t is lost? 
That in thy greater scvrows I mu&t see. 
And silently lament thy sulfcring. 
Nor even know the cause of so much grief ? 
In what have I betray 'd thee, and what fault 
Hath made me thus suspected? 

Don Pedro. Thou betray'd 

I have not yet pronounced so false a charjie. 
Would I were innocent, as thou hast been I 
Inez. Thou art ; and none more purely so 
than thou I 
But tell me what it is that grieves thee so. 
Has any dared affront Don Pedro — stain'd 

his fame, 
Or sought to blast his honour? 

Don Pedro [convulsively grasping ilie hill 

of his sivord) What? affront I 
Inez. It cannot be he should forget his 
valour, 
And let his spotless knighthood rust in shame. 
Don Pedro. Don Pedro knows himself, his 

lank and rights ! 
Inez. Perchance remorse over a fallen foe? 
Don Pedro. Don Pedro knows ^ no re- 
morse, but shame! 
Inez. "T is well. Perchance some foreign 
enemy 
Combines to plunder his inheritance. 
Perchance the proud Castilian foams and 

threats 
The downfal of his greal ancestral throne? 
Don Pedro must yet feel himself a prince. 
Don Ptdro. Again that title! Yes, he 
feels — he feels 
Too truly that the chance which gave hiir 

birth, 
And placed him in a sphere which many men 
Would sacrifice their innocence to gain. 
Has been, and must henceforth (or ever be, 
To him the torture of a miscreant's doom. 
He feels, that for that power so warmly sought 
He must, or condescend to witness crime, 
And seeing virtue fall, refrain to help her. 
And thus confirm himself an arrant villain , 
Or, with the bootless lustre of a princedom. 
And with the title of authority, 
Yet impotently gaze upon her fall. 
Tell me, sweet Inez, conld'st thou love « 

wretch — 
A recreant such as this ; nor loathe the sight 
Of one, however dear, who had prcferr'd 
His life before his honour? Could'st tho« 

call 
This miserable creature husband still? 
Could'st thou endure the filthy leprous touch 



268 



ATTRIBUTED PIECES. 



To fix its shamed pallor on thy cheek? 
Wfcre it not better tears should wash away 
The bloom that youth had breathed upon its 

sheen, 
Than this contagion should devour it? 
Hastthoue'er heard, sweet Inez, of great men, 
Who, rather than by living to behold, 
Thus sanction crime, have turn'd their use- 
less swords 
Against a life disgraced hy impotence, 
And thus become a burden to themselves, 
And vainei to the land which gave them birth? 
Inez. I may ; but to what purpose, ask me 

this? 
Bon Pedro. Didst thou esteem them, or 
condemn the deed ? [me ! 

Inez. How strangely dost thou question 
Don Pedru^ Would'st thou. 
Sweet Inez, seek to hold thy husband's hands, 
If that one blow could save thy husband's 
fame? 
Inez. What can this mean? It cannot 
surely be — [eye 

Jso\ no! thou would'st not turn ; yet in thine 
There is a wildness I ne'er saw before. 
Tell me, 1 pray — entreat — implore, what ill; 
Wh»4 sad reverse? By all the love thou 
bear'st, [hours 

Or may'st have borne me — by the tranquil 
Of secret, sweet enjoyment — by those ties 
Which bind us still morecloselyto each other. 
What dark catastrophe hath wrung thy soul. 
And suffered it to feed such thoughts as these. 
Remember — think — reflect. Thou art a father! 
Don Pedro. Great God! 
Inez. And I the mother 

of thy sons ! 
Don Pfdro. Just Powers ! 
Lies. WTio barely learn 

to lisp thy name. 
And to recite the glory of thy deeds; 
^•V'lio with exulting tears gaze up to me, 
Awaiting to be told the daily tale 
Of some new martial honour gained by thee. 



FRAGMENTS OF AN INCOMPLETE 
POEM. 

Shoulo'st thou — and thou should'st know me 

— chance to read 

A line or two that anguish wreaks hereon ; 

Thou may'st perceive one woe hath been thy 

deed. 

And in those hours when joy is reeling on. 



And suffering is heard with little heed, 

Should'st thou once chance to open and to 
con, ^deem, 

he page that claims thy pity, thou might's! 
My wrongs are not so paltry as they seem. 

W'rongs which my persecutors would have writ 

In blood more pure than mine — so pure their 

own: [been lit 

Wrongs too, whose brand by thee htwl eriJ 
To be revived by any vulgar clown, 

Whose stupid grossness or whose barren wit 
Could count no breath but what himsell 
had blown. 

So sweet, or pure, or hallow'd as his tongue. 

Or fit supply for his all-hallow'd lung. 

And in those hours of grief, which God forefend, 
But which will happen to the happiest, 

Should'st THOU thyself in passing chance to 
bend, 
A tearful g'.ance of kindred interest — 

^Tiilst scalding tears, may be, like mine descend. 
To sear thy cheek, or sighs convulse thy rest; 

Opon this sheet. Oh ! may'st thou not repent. 

That e'er another heart by thee was rent. 

But will such thoughts not come ? When far 
away. 
From whence the full forgiveness is unheard. 
Which love has daily breathed : when day by 
day, 
The wretched recollection has recurr'd, 
A.nd none declare what one alone could say, 
May-be thine ears will yearn to hear that 
word. 
Look then but smilingly upon this lay ; 
It breatlies in candour all that one could say. 

It has return'd his blessing for thy curse : 
It has retorted constant love for hate : 

It woidd then soothe thine anguish as anurs . 
It would console thee when disconsolate : 

It would defend thee when thy foes asperse • 
It would protect thine unprotected state. 

Such is his vengeance, such his harsh return 

For injury, contumely and spurn ! — 

Twill be his joy to aid thee if he can : 

'Twill be his pride his solace should avail-. 

'Twill be his glory to conduct the van 

Against thy foes, and fighting for the fraiL 

'Twill be his boast t'approve himself a man: 
The more thy banded enemies prevail, 

The worthier of him t'oppose the throng, 

And join the weaker to o'ercome the strong.—* 

This is my youth again, heroic age, [mam 
Which some h&rsh converse in the track o 



1 



ATTRIBUTED PIECES. 



2G9 



Hao damp d or curdled for this later stage. 

I h ad scarce thoiii^ht it when my coarse began 
N'H" dreamt to turn, or satirist, or sage: 

Or that one sorrow conivl one half, it can ; 
But ficshness comes with the recurring thought, 
Which cancels all the interval as nought. — 

A freshness in the which my breath is free, 
My soul gains vigour, aiid xny heart expands ; 

A.S, in my sadder days of revelry, [hands, 
'Twas once ray wont, with fevcr-trembhng 

To meet the early morning's reveillee. [lands. 
The mon;ing freshness of all climes and 

Excepting London, where a ribald night, 

Is certainly not mended by the light. 

That sort of misty, smoky, dirty dawn 
Should be excluded from all simile : 

"•nfit, but to provoke a la/.y yawn. 

E'en in the most accustom'd debauchee; 

Your Picadilly pavement for a lawn, 
And Crockford's looking dingy as may be. 

With a few loungers reeling home to bed, 

Or fancying the gutter in its stead. 

Now, charming critics, I have done: — 'Tis time 
To turn my independent thoughts to you, 

And, though I don't submit a single rhyme, 
To your adjudication — we'll pursue 

A styie of raving, tempting the sublime, 
And start at once into our story too, 

if erely because it suits my present whim, 

Aptly to use the pen I freshly trim. 

Twill be, unlike my labours heretofore,— 
Just written as a learned scribe dictated; 

Although in reading some Romance of yore. 
An Amadis or something antiquated 

And stutFd with chivalry — I slyly swore 
The worthy Doctor stole or had dilated. 

On some such tale he found in the collections, 

Just published with additions and corrections. 

I cannot well be blamed upon this score: 
'Tis not my fault and that is much to say. 

Tales are not, either, now, as heretofore, 
Obliged to be original to pay ; 

And Publishers are pleased with any bore. 
And as contented quite as if a stray 

And lost Boccaccio sprung to modern light. 

Or if Cervantes left the tomb to write. 

^"Peregrine" or " Tom" appear'd but now. 

Or "Joseph" was but recehtly produced, 
four Fieldings would be forced to make their 
bow. 
And quit the literary stage, reduced 



To keep some poultn,', or a breed ir-g sow, 
And serve as instances to be adduced. 
To warn real wits that such a vein as their* 
Would leave but little to their hapless heirs. 

If Ariosto wrote — " qiiis tal'ia fando 

Of all real poets, would refrain from tears" 

And Harrington translated the Orlando, 
They'd find but few to lend their modem 
ears. 

And yet what better can the ablest man do, 
'Mongst all the nineteenth century reveres? 

Poor Southey looks astonishingly small, 

In point of Fame, if he be famed at all. 

But as he writes to fill his precious pocket, 
'Tis not surprising that he writes so badly, 

And, for his style, so many strive to mock it. 
That none can wonder all should fail so 
sadly; 

In truth he has nor style, nor wit to stock it, 
Although some girls devour his books so 
madly ; 

Poor Bob! 'tis hard one cannot prophesy, 

A scrap of reputation when you die 

But, let me see, I had made up my mind 
To try a legend of the middle ages ; 

This vein has grown quite popular I find. 
Since Southey took to borrowing Scott's 
pages. 

There 's one thing gain'd in stories of this kii?d. 
One is not hamper'd by the precious sage? 

Who prose about their classic balderdasr 

And damn all verse but overstudied ti'ash. 

The barbarism of Gothic ignorance 
Is illustrated in our every sound. 

When ruthless hardihood left lore to chance, 
And trampled ancient learning on the 
gi'ound. 

We could not hope to wdke, as from a trance, 
Endued with all the Isles of Greece had 
found 

Of beaut}^ symmetry, and eloquence, 

In nature, wrought by art the most intense. 

So let us be contented if we can, 

With something more akin to Gothic rhyme. 
About the period when those wars began, 

Which were deem'd sacred for their very 
crime, 
There lived a disinherited old man 

Who had possess'd some treasure in his 
time, [fair. 

And whose domain had been as broad and 
As any we might meet with here or tuere. 



270 



ATTRIBUTED PIECES. 



The church had stripp'd him of his every acre: 
And most considerately so, I have no doubt 
That 't might bu consecrated to the Maker; 
Although some rumours which were spread 
about 
Were sadly detrimental to the taker; 

And as the lives and claims had not died 
out; [wrested, 

Twas not conceal'd, the lands might yet be 
Fiom those by whom they were erewhile in- 
fested 

The heir apparent's grave preceptor was 
A worthy lather of the sable hood, 

Who suffer'd no occasion e'er to pass. 

For forwarding the prospects of his broo4 

And, as young Roderic was the last, alas ■ 
To represent the titles of his blood, 

The worthy friar seized the first occasion. 

To clear the coast by force or by persuasion. 

He spoke of glory, or a holy grave, [fame ; 

Of conquest's realms, and vast domains and 
He primed him up with many a martial stave 

And sung of heroes, and a deathless name; 
He named some soldier and his lovely slave. 
And fann'd the lovers with the hero's flame; 
Till Roderic, who was young and therefore 

wild, 
Vow'd to depart — at which his Mentor smiled. 

In vain two parents struggled to retain 

Th" adventurous little maniac from the field: 
A lovely sister held him back in vain, 

And "kiss'd the hand by which she sadly 
knecl'd ; 
In vain she sprung upon his neck again, 

And wept until her little senses reel'd. 

And kiss'd his cheeks, and prattled out her 

prayer, [share. 

Whilst there were wealth and eminence to 

For thus he fondly dreamt that it should be ; 

He was in this, like other boys, and saw, 
Admired, and courted any vanity. 

The veriest, paltry edifice of straw, 
Thus raised before him would have won his e'e, 

And struck him with the most respectful 
awe ; 
And all those splendid castles in the air. 
He daily saw, seem'd wonderfully fair. 

So he departed with a martial throng 

Of knights and squires, and ragged vaga- 
bonds, [and strong: — 

And thieves and cut-throats, frail, and sick 
Just as a young apprentice oft absconds 



With some young lady he had sigb'd fjr 'ong 

And when he *d loosea all patriitcnial l-undf 

And found himself his own ungovern'd master 

Those dazzling dreams came crowding in ibi 

faster. 

But truth, in blushing, is compell'd to own 
That Roderic was eariy left behind : 

His having join'd the army was not known 
For many days, before a man as blind 

As Love himself, and rough as any stone, — 
An ill-condition'd wretch as you might find 

Was brought before our hero by a crone, 

Quite old enough to play the chaperon. 

He flatter'd, fawn'd, and bow'd to Roderic, 
And praised his valour, person, gait, ad- 
dress, 

And paren^^age — and all, — though Arabic, 
Or sueh outlandish dialect, was less 

Unknown to him, most likely : trick on tnck 
Was plied, to make the sillyyouih confess, 

The very knowledge that was used to prove 

His aged tempter's interest or love 

Of all the youths who emulate renown, 
There's probably not one who can witt 
stand 

The flattering notice, even of a clown ; 
And Rodei-ic was, therefore, quite wk 
mann'd. 

He listen'd to advice without a frown. 
And this is rare in boys, you understand, 

And at all times must be well larded over 

With flattery — that intellectual clover. 

Thus, when vou wish to conquer, you mua 
yield,' 

And feign respect, before you can obtain it , 
The better your advantage is conceal'd. 

The more assured you ever are to gain it. 
The human heart is, bit by bit, unseal'd, 

And seal'd again. 'Tis easy to retain it, 
When you have gently closed it o'er the tie 
That binds it to your subtle agency. 

Flush'd by this seer with brighter dreams 
than ever, [where 

Roderic would now have follow'd any 
His Mentor led; whilst he, too shrewd aufl 
clever, 

To cii^e at once the promising aflfair, 
Excited his impatience to a fever, 

And dallied with him, bidding him prepari 
To undertake some daring enterpnse, [plies. 
Whilst he went gathering soldiers and sup 



ATTRIBUTED PIECES. 



271 



Few days elapsevl before the set; retum'd, 
Having coilcctod no such mean anay: 

For, somehow, nil ihe ablest soldiers yeani'd 
For something more hke balialous affray. 

The sort of riot rout was what they spuiu'd, 
And they got sick of marching day on day: 

So that the very sound of feats of daring 

Set all your brave adventurers preparing. 

They gather'd round the agea man to hear, 
And greedily devour his specious tale : 

He told them, love, and wealth, and fame 

were near, [hail. 

And show'd young Roderic as the chief to 

They met their youthful leader with a cheer, 
Nor deem'd they that an enterprise could 
fail, 

Conducted by such age and youth, combined 

With more of wisdom than we mostly find. 

The bearing of the youthful chieftain, too,— 
His noble carriage, and attractive mien 

Subdued the arrogant and haughty few, 
Who might disclaim a leader of sixteen, 

And won respect from those from whom 'twas 
due ; 
So that as nice a squad as e'er was seen 

Was very soon prepared to take a start. 

And leave the corps d'armee to do its part. 

Suffice 't to say, our hero's little band, 

Abandoned their original career, 
And, marching o'er a sterile plain of sand. 

Hulled at noon before the rarest cheer. 
E'er conjur'd by some safanistic wand, 

At least, 't is thus the fact will e'er appear ; 
For how the devil else the banquet came, 
Would puzzle them, or you, or me to name, 

Howe'er this be, they fed, and laughed, and 
drank, 
And found the liquor so e.\treme-y good. 
That half of them too prematurely s ink, 
And soon in sleeping dreamt of drink and 
food ; 
/jid very early the surrounding bank, 

With nearly all the glorious troop wa3 
strew'd, [vanish'*!. 

Meanwhile — I can't tell how — the old man 
And all the banquet was as quickly ban ish'd. 

Voung Roderic, and those who had withstood 
Too free indulgence in the strong potations. 

Were taken with a strange exploring mood. 
And started straight on their perambu- 
lations. 



It seems to me, that could the scene be vieT'lj 
It would remind you of those sweet * *!• 
kitions 
Of spiders and hard eggs, in private parks. 
Called picnic parties by your modern spa' s. 

They were attracted, in their lazy ramblea 
By peals of laughter from some neijii. 
bouring glade, 
For twas a forest. To defy the braables, 
And reach the scene where many a meny 
maid. 
And half-arm'd youth were playing off tlieii 
gambols. 
With somewhat less of decency display 'd 
Than would have pleased our Southey'* 

squeamish taste, 
Or any iady very prim and chaste. 

I do love decency not affectation. 
And had much rather see a silly girl 

Play her own part than ape an old relation; 
I'd rather see her unbound locks to curl 

All loosely round her neck, and dissipation 
Flash satire from her eye against the churl 

Or cynic Spinster that would play the piixde, 

Than feign to be so eminently good. 

If there were really magic in the case, 
There can be very little doubt, I ween, 

But magic drew our hero to this place, 

And wholly conjured this enchanting scene 

Those sorcerers are a mighty cunning race.—* 
And know how lads who ever have been greeo 

Are to be caught with pretty cheeks and 
dimples. 

And smiles and dances, and such other simples. 

So when they want to catch a handsome boy. 
They generally choose a pretty figure 

And dimpled cheek, to bait him with their toy: 
Perhaps for Africans they'd have a nigger; 

But in the north a face as dark as soy, 

And waist-band like a hoop, or somewha,' 
bigger, 

Would barely win a handsome errant knight 

To play Medoro and forget to fight. 

It was in somewhat a resembling way, 
That secret agent spoken of above 

Led Roderic and his party thus astray, 
Reducing them I scarce dare say to love. 

For such it seem'd in tliat eventlul day. 
Was likely to detain them in the " gruvc' 

They wonder'd long at the unwonted seeaj. 

Imagining, (v^rhaps, they were unseen ; 



272 



ATTRIBUTED PIECES. 



But the dear creatures are not long to see 
When admiration turns the steady eye ;— 

There's nothing quicker than their vanity, 
And though they feign to blush and whisper 
" fie," 

There's nothing pleases them like flattery. 
The dancing ladies though by far too sly 

To ieein to notice their new stranger guests, 

Became more lavish of their charms and jests. 

The interlopers step by step advanced, 

And more enchanting still the girls became 

^nd more voluptuous as they gaily danced. 
With much of grace, but very little shame; 

Fill suddenly a youth of their band glanced 
Towards where young Roderic — who was 
worse than flame, — 

Kept drawing closer to his favourite fair one, 

As if determin'd at the least to share one. 

This was the signal for a rush to arms : — 
The ladies feigning, for the time, to fly, — 

Becoming somewhat less profuse of charms. 
And falling to the rear stood calmly by. 

Whilst Roderic bow'd to quiet their alarms. 
And, like a valiant knight of chivalry. 

Stood courteously aloof, to give his foes 

Full time to ai-m them, should they come to 
blows. 

As if he had been fifty years a knight, 
He then demanded as the price of peace, 

The lady whom he pointed out to sight; 
She ogled Roderic to obtain release 

And feign'd to urge her champion to the fight 
Although she heartily wish'd him decc;ai;ed. 

Since handsome Roderic had so charm'd her 
sight, 

And had estranged her late affections quite. 

This cool demand was valiantly declined. 
So that both parties sprung upon their 
steeds. 

We had not thought of horses, as I find, 
'Till now ; so that the critic, as he reads, 

Will find this void exactly to his mind, 

xAnd just the place to number my misdeeds, 

In loosely writing, with no thought or rule. 

And blacken me, to write himself a fool. 

The truth is, had these horses been produced 
Upon the scene a little while before. 

They had been fodderlessly introduced, 
And yoi'.'d have deem'd them but a sorry 
score, 

And pictured them as piteously reduced. 
Like tiiat of gallant Hu iibras of yore ; 



And epic grandeur would th is dwindle Jow 
To something meaner than a prince or crowr-. 

'Tis ridicule we all the most abhor ; 

A right good reason why a certain paper 
That moved my laughter, show'd itself so sore 

Derision suffers nothing to escape her. 
That looks like overplenitude in lore. 

And smiles most keenly upon those wh« 
ape her ; 
And when a falsehood strives to shelter folly, 
Her every gibe becomes a rod of holly. 

Think'st thou not so my able Public-thinker? 

Hath she not well-nigh tickled thee to death; 
My little lying patchwork Folly-tinker? 

For God's oake spare thy little brains and 
breath, 
For thoi art too contemptible to sink her :— 

And, when thou feel'st the truth of what sb* 
saith. 
Strive to amend, but let not any see, 
Thou hast been nettled by her repartee. 

This dread of the ridiculous withheld 
The earlier introduction of my horses, 

Which were as fine as ever you beheld, 
Nor were the worst part of our hero's forces; 

And Roderic thought so, for he justly held 
These horses 'mongst the best of bis re- 
sources. 

Perhaps as much for fleetness as for mettle : 

For speed is sometimes the best means to settle, 

And foes were marshall'd, valiant mortai foes. 

With shield opposed to shield, and spear to 
spear. 
And all the ardour of the brave arose, 

As that terrific struggle drew more near; 
And twenty crests to twenty proudly rose, 

Despising death and ridiculing fear, 
And calmly waving o'er the tranquil field, 
Where some should conquer and where som« 
should yield. 

They look'd like pennons streaming o'erthe sea, 
That heaved beneath them with its silent 
threat, 
Spurning that threat -svith their serenity. 
Yet, when those bristling lances should havi 
met. 
And lie in splinters o'er mortality, 

Like these their useless wreck should paj 
the debt. 
That outraged powers demandedof their prid^ 
To sport withal — neglect — despise — derid« ! 



ATTRIBUTED PIECES. 



27: 



And thei: the cbaJ^e came clashing from each 
si lie, 

And shivering lances flow, and riders fell. 
And horses reel'd a retrograding stride. — 

The ring of shields had struck the mournful 
knell 
Of four on Roderic's side, who bled and died, 

And one too brave and youthful damozel, 
Who proudly aim'd his emulative spear 
At Roderic's crest, despising humbler gear, 

3ut Roderic's lance was shiver'd by the 
stroke : 

And, now he was assail'd on either hand. 
The buttle with the chief became no joke. 

And as his horse could now but barely stand. 
And, as his treacherous sword moreover broke. 

He seized the nearest of the adverse band — • 
Having alighted — dragg'd him also down, 
And sprung upon his charger as his own. 

He was but barely seated, when a blow 
Aimed by no novice hand attain'd his crest. 

And forced it down upon his saddle bow ; 
The ringing helmet yet withstood the test. 

And though he reel'd beneath the stroke, and 
tboogh 
His head awhile hung senseless on his 
breast, 

A frimdly hand opposed the exulting foe, 

And saved a second, and more fatal blow. 

Stung with discomfiture, and shame, and rage. 
As soon as he recover'd from the stun, 

He spurr'd his ste-id and flew to re-engage ; 
The battle-axe that glitter'd in the sun, 

Seem'd to flash fire, and willing flames to wage 
The red destruction, as he fought and won; 

And every blow dealt senselessness or death. 

And rung victorious o'er the passing bieath. 

Now to the right he whirl'd the flashing steely 
Now to the left opposed the faithful shield; 

One moment saw a youthful warrior reel. 
And full extended on the blood-stain'd field; 

Inother saw our furious chieftain wh el, 
And sti-etch some veteran yet loath to yield 

A lifeless corse beneath his charger's hoof, 

Or crush the coward that withdrew aloof. 

The fearful odds were thus reduced to par : 
For, though, at first, his party sadly fail'd. 

Such is the strange and cbanging fate of war, 
That now in numbers, even they prevail'd: 

And, in successful bravery by far ; 
For everv adversary fairly qaail'd, 

19 



Before young Roderic's axe, and feebiy struo 
As if he durst not tmst his arm or luck. 

And Fortune, who's a shameless sycophant, 
Had well-nigh thrown herself in Roderic* 
arms. 

To yield the prize her hands so often grant, 
And court the victor with her faithles 
charms ; 

When — Bob can tell youhow — I really can't—* 
A band of stalwart giant men-at-arms. 

Who had been somehow conjured or conceal'd 

Appear 'd to recontest the well-fought field. 

Our fainting heroes sicken'd at the sight. 
Their still more fainting foes rejoiced to see; 

But Roileric was by far too proud for flight; 
And ladies held the palm of victory, — 

Which is no small incentive to a knight; 
And even they who would not blush to fle« 

Before a man alone; when women judge 

The honom- of the field, would scorn to budge 

The new assailants were the quaintest train. 

That ever figured in a strange romance;— 
Their arms were rude, uncouth, grotesque and 
plain : 
Nor polish'd sword they bore, nor well 
poised lance, 
But ponderous axes, foul with many a stain, 

And clubs too, such as you or I by chancf 
Might move — but handling is another question 
Which might not suit our strength or our diges- 
tion. 

Their height was, God Almighty knows how 
great, [a stack , 

Their breadth was — oh, ah ! somewhat lik« 
They strode along at such prodigious rate, 

Ve'd scarce have caught them with a siag- 
hoand pack ; 
To have engaged such monsters separate, 

It seem'd would need an army at one's back. 
But when they came down fifteen at a time, 
The fight becomes a mere affair of rhyme. 

'Tis very easy to relate the tale. 

And no way more improbable than are 

One half of those our novelists reiail, 
And tell as acts of an authentic war; 

And, though the story's "somewhat hke a 
whale," 
In prodigy 'twill not outdo by far 

The truth through microscopic Southey's me- 
diimi : 

Nor, ai< I trust, oppress yoa with much tediuml 



274 



ATTRIBUTED PIECES. 



The first that came, as if he meant to show off, 
Bet!;an parading rouiui Vis smaller foes; 

But Roderic flung his axe and cut his too off, 
Wliilsl some one else deprived him of his 
nose ; 

And as he now could neither fight nor go off, 
Tliey managed to dispatch him with few 
blows. 

(And as his comrades came up rather late. 

Ere they arrived, his trunk had lost its pate. 

Exasperated at their comrade's fall, 

And little dreaming they would have to fight 

Wiih such a lilliputiau general, 

And fancying they'd vanquish him by fright, 

The giants warn'd the youthful mareschal 
With horrid oaths that if he ventured flight, 

They would annihilate his steed and all. 

And eat their flesh by way of funeral. 

Now Roderic, who felt the fearful taunt 
And knew in truth how weak his party were, 

Natheless was not the boy a threat could daunt. 
And bad them capture and then eat their 
hare. 

That mode he said was taught him by his aunt, 
Who was an editress of dainty fare. 

And often with some wisdom had observed 

That plums are gather'd ere they are preserved. 

There is no telling whence an aible mind, 
Such as was Rodeiic's may gather know- 
ledge, — 

And that too of a philosophic l^jnd ; — 

And every scholar surely will acknowledge 

That what is useful of it to mankind. 
Is found in cookery as wdl as college: 

A hint worth knowing to that great Society, 

Who cvara the young with wisdom to satiety. 

Some men seek wisdom in a spider's thread, — 
And some have found it in this simple way, 

As all will fairly own, who e'er have read 
A certain story of a certain day; — 

Some find it in repentance, when they wed, ' 
And not uncommonly as many say. 

Koderic. you see, acquired it of his aunt, 

knd none, my friend, will dare assert you can't. 

The pert reply which Roderic had made, 
Was quite enough to aggravate a saint — 

And giants are not always of that trade, 
And therefore do not practise such restraint. 

To it they went with knotted club to blade, 
Willi much of power but with little feint. 



Despising all the tricks of practised swordi 

men. 
Or vantage tliat the ait of arms affords men. 

The brave Ribaldo fell and mighty f-Jeorge 
Smash'd to a thousand atoms by Grimskal 
kin. 
Whilst R^ginald made Pedagog disgorge 
Some precious fea.st indulged in with Grirnat 
kin — 
A fellow labourer at the Cyclop forge 

With boots he might have tepp'd from 
Brest to Balkh in, 
And body next to which St. Paul's would look 
Much like this volume next some graver book. 

And Roderic all this while was twisting, leap- 
ing, 

Attacking, pirouetting here or there. 
In fact was doing everything but sleeping, 

Evading every blow with wondrous care: 
And when he had the chance forpver steejiing 

His sword in some fresh wound: — nor did 
he spare 
His adversaries' legs, their bodies being. 
Within no reach for anything but seeing. 

The contest might have lasted out the day, 

Bui by some sad mischance a cruel blow 
Stretch'd our young chieftain on a bed of clay , 

And all the rest made of their heel and toe 
The common use with people in dismay; — 

In fact, considering it time to go, 
I am ashamed to own they ran away, 

Leaving the giants with their helpless prey. 

And after all they were not v^ry base: — 
They fought with no such flimsy bravery 

Until they Ibund their's was a desperate cas< 
And that, unaided by his gallantry. 

Their only hope of safety was iheir pace ;-~ 
To do them justice too they thought that Ho 

Was fairly killd, as any would have hought: 

Who saw with what an enemy he Ibught. 

Nor can we blame them, for the giants too 
Were so assured that Roderic was dead. 

That they ne'er took the pains to go and vie w 
VViiat kind of wound it was from which he 
bled. 

Nor had they time to think of those they slen 
Nor to pursue the recreant ones that fled, 

For they lamented many a lifeles-"' friend, 

And had the wounded of their own to tend. 



JHonoti^ 



ON THE DEATH OF THE RIGHT HON. R. B. SHERIDAN. 

SPOKEN AT DRURY-LANE THEATKB. 



WiiBiw the last sunshine of expiring day 
In siiramer's twilight weeps itself away. 
Who hath not felt the softness of the iioiir 
Sink oil rJie heart, as dew along the Uower ? 
With a ])ure feeling which absorbs and awes 
While Nature makes that melancholy pause, 
Her breathing moment ou the bridge where 

Time 
Of light and darkness forms an arch sublime, 
Whi> hath not shai-ed that calm so still and 

deep, 
The voiceless thought which would not speak 

but weep, 
A holy concord — and a bright regret, 
A glorious sympathy with suns that set ? 
Tis not harsh sorrow — but a tenderer woe, 
Nameless, but dear to gentle hearts below. 
Felt without bitterness — but full and clear, 
A swoct dejection — a transparent tear, 
Unmix'd with worldly grief or selfish stain, 
Shed without shame — and secret without pain. 

Even as the tenderness that hour instils 
When Summer's day declines along the hills. 
So feels the fulness of our heart and eyes. 
When all of Genius which can perish dies. 
A mighty Spirit is eclipsed — a Power 
Hath pass'd from day to dai-kness — to whose 

hour 
Of light no likeness is bequeath'd — no name, 
Fdcus at once of all the rays of Fame ! 
The flash of Wit — the bright Intelligence, 
The beam of Song — the bia/.e of Eloquence, 
Set with their Sun — but still have left behind 
The enduring produce of immortal Mind ; ; 
Fruits of a genial moi-n, and glorious noon, 
A deathless part of him who died too soon. 
But small that portion of the wondrous whole. 
These sparkling segments of that circling soul, 
Whirh all embraced — and lighien'd ovei all. 
To cheer — to pierce — to please — or to appal. 
From the charm'd council to the festive board. 
Of human feehngs the unbounded lord ; 



In whose acclaim the loftiest voice*" ticif, 
The praised — the proi d — who made iiis praiM 

iheir pride. 
^\^len the loud cry of trampled Hindostan 
Arose to Heaven in her appeal from man. 
His was the thunder — his the avenging rod. 
The wrath — the delegated voice of God ! 
Which shook the nations through his lip — and 

blazed 
Till vanquish'd senates trembled as thsy 

praised. 

And here, oh ! here, where yet all young 

and warm, 
The gay creations of his spirit charm. 
The matchless dialogue — the deathless wit, 
Which knew not what it was to intermit , 
The glowing, po.Uaita fresh from life, th^ 

bring 
Home to our hearts the truth from which they 

spring ; 
These wcndrous beings of his Fancy, wroughl 
To fulness by tte fi;it of his thought, 
Here in their first abode you still may meet. 
Blight with the hues of his Promethean heat; 
A halo of the light of other days, 
Which still the splendour of its orb betrays. 

But should there be to whom the fatal blight 
Of failing Wisdom yields a base delight, 
Men who exult when minds of heavenly tona 
Jar in the music which was born their own. 
Si ill let them pause — ah ! little do they know 
That what to them seem'd Vice might be bm 

Woe. 
Hard is his fate on whom the public gaze 
Is fix.'d for ever on detract or praise ; 
Repose denies her requiem to his name. 
And Folly loves the martyrdom of Fame. 
Tue secret enemy whose sleepless eye 
Siands sentinel — accuser — judge — and spy. 
The foe — the fool — the jealous — and the vain 
The envious who but breathe in others' puiw 



276 



MONODY ON SHEKIDAN. 



Behold the host! delighting to deprave, 
Who track the steps of Glory to the grave. 
Watch every fault that daring Genius owes 
Hilf to the ardour which its birth bestows, 
Distort the truth, accumulate the lie. 
And like the pyramid of Calumny ! 
These are his portion — but if joia'd to these 
Gaunt Poverty should league with deep 

Disease, 
If the high Spiiit must forget to soar, 
And stoop to strive ^vith Misery at the door, 
'I'o soothe Indignity — and face to face 
Meet sordid Rage — and wrestle with Disgrace, 
^*-To find in Hope but the renew'd caress, 
The serpent-fold of further Faithlessness : — 
"'' If such may be the ills which men assail. 
What marvel if at last the mightiest fail ? 
Breasts to whom all the strength of feeling 

given 
Bear hearts electric — charged with fire from 

Heaven, 
Black with the rude collision, inly torn. 
By clouds surrounded, and on whirlwinds 

borne, 
Driven o'er the lowering atmosphere that nnrst 
rhoagbts which have turn'd to thunder — 

aoor\:h — and burst. 



But far from us and from our mnnic 
Such things should be — if such have eret 

been ; ^> 

Ours be the gentler wish, the kinder task, 
To give the tribute Glory need not ask, 
To mourn the vanish'd beam — and add ^Mi 

mile 
Of praise in payment of a long delight. 
Ye Orator& ! whom yet your councils yield, 
Mourn for the veteran Hero of your field ! 
The worthy rival of the wondrous Three / 
Whose words were sparks of Immortality ! 
Ye Bards ! to whom the Drama's Muse is dear. 
He was your Master — emulate him here ! 
Ye men of wit and social eloquence ! 
He was your brother — bear his a^\\c% hence ! 
While Power of mind almost of boundless 

range. 
Complete in kind — as various as their change, 
While Eloquence — Wit — Poesy — and Mirth, 
That humbler Harmonist of care on Earth, 
Survive within our souls — while lives our sense 
Of pride in Mark's proud pre-emintnce. 
Long shall we seek his likeness — long in vain, 
And turn to all of him which may remain. 
Sighing that Nature fonn'd but one such ma]^ 
And brolre the die — in moulding Sheridan. 



€\jili}t f^arolti's ^ilarimase: 



A ROMVUNT. 



PREFACE. 

(TO THE riEST AND SECONP CANTOS.] 

Thk following poem was written, for the most 
pan, amidst the scenes which it attempts to 
describe. It was begun in Albania ; and the 
parts relative to Spain and Poitugal were com- 
posed from the author's observations in those 
countries. Thus much it ma_v be necessary to 
state for the correctness of the descriptions. 
The scenes attempted to be sketched are in 
Spain,Pcirtugal,Epirus. Acaniania, and Greece. 
There, for the present, the poem stops : its re- 
ception will determine whether the author may 
ventin-e to conduct his readers to the capital 
of the East, through Ionia and Phrygia: these 
two Cantos are merely experimental. 

A fictitious character is introduced for the 
sake of giving some connection to the piece ; 
which, however, makes no pretensions to re- 
gularity. It has been suggested to me by 
friends, on Avhose opinions I set a high value, 
that in this fictitious character," Childe Harold," 
I may incur the suspicion of having intended 
some real personage: this I beg leave, once 
for all, to disclaim — Harold is the child of ima- 
gination, for the pui-pose I have stated. In 
some very trivial particulars, and those merely 
local, there might be grounds for such a n»- 
lion ; but in the main points, I slioidd hope, 
one whatever. 

It is almost supeifluous to mention that the 
ppellation " Childe," as "Childe Waters," 
" Childe Childers," &;e^ is used as more con- 
sonant with the old structure of versification 
which I have adopted. The "Good Night," 
in the beginning of the first canto, was sug 
gested by " Lnsrd Maxwell's Good Night," in 
the Border Minstrelsy, edited by Mr. Scott, 

With the different poems which have been 
publi»hed on Spanish subjects, there may be 
found some slight coincidence in the first part, 
which treats of the Peninsula, but it can only 
'ie casual ; as, with the exception of a fcrw, 



concluding stanicas, the whole of this poea 
was written in the Levant. 

The stanza of Spenser, according to one o» 
our most successful poets, admits of CTery 
variety. Dr. BeaUie makes the following 
observation: — " Not long ago, I began a poem 
in the style and stanza of Spenser, in which I 
propose to give full scope to my inclination, 
and be either droll or pathetic, descriptive or 
sentimental, tender or satirical, as the humour 
strikes me ; for, if I mistake not, the measure 
whicli I have adopted admits equally of aU 
these kinds of composition."'^ — Strengthened 
in my opinion by such authority, and by the 
example of some in the highest orderof Italian 
poets, I shall make oo apology tor attempts at 
similar variations in the (bllowing composition; 
satisfied that, if they are unsuccessiul, theis 
failure must be in the execution, ratlier than 
in the design, sanctioned by the {»-actica o2 
Ariosto, Thomson, and Beattie. 
London, February, ISIS. 



TO IANTHE.» 

Not in those climes where I have late been 

straying. 
Though Beauty long hath there been match- 
less deem'd; 
Not in those visions to the heart displaying 
Forms which it sighs but to have only drcam'd. 
Hath aught like thee in truth or fancy seem'd: 
Nor, having seen thee, shall I vainly seek 
To paint those charms which varied as they 

beam'd— 
To such as see thee not my words were weak; 
To those who gaze on thee what language 
could they speak ? 



278 



CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 



Ah t may'st tbou ever be what now thou art, 
Nor unbeseem the promise of thy spring, 
As lair in form, as wann yet pure in heart, 
Love's image upon earth without his wing. 
And guileless beyond Hope's imagining 1 
And surely she who now so fondly rears 
Thy youth, in thee, thus hourly brightening. 
Beholds the rainbow of her future years. 
Before whose heavenly hues all sorrow dia* 
i^peara. 

Voung Peri 3 of the West ! — *t is well for me 
My years ah-eady doubly number thine; 
My loveless eye unmoved may gaze on thee. 
And safely view thyripening beauties shine; 
Happy, I ne'er shall see them in decline ; 
Happier, that while all younger hearts shall 

bleed, 
Mine shall escape the doom thine eyes assign 
To those whose admiration shall succeed, 
But mix'd wath pangs to Love's even love- 
liest hours decreed. 

Oh ! let that eye, which, wild as the Gazelle's,* 
Now brightly bold or beautifully shy. 
Wins as it wanders, dazzles where it dwells. 
Glance o'er this page, nor to my verse deny 
That smile for which my breast might vainly 

sigh. 
Could I to thee be ever more than friend : 
This much, dearmaid, accord; nor question why 
To one so young my strain I would commend, 
But bid me with my wTeath one matchless 
lily blend. 

Such is thy name with this my verse entwined; 
And long as kinder eyes a look shall cast 
On Harold's page, lanthe's here enshrined 
Shall thus be first beheld, forgotten last: 
My days once number 'd, should this homage 

past 
Attract thy fairy fingere near the lyre 
Of him who hail'd thee, loveliest as thou wast. 
Such is the most my memory may desire ; 
Though more than Hope can claim, could 

Fiiendslup less require ? 



QLWtit f^aroIU's pilgrimage 



CANTO THB PIBST 



Oh, thou I in Hellas deem'd of heavenly otrtbt 
Muse! fonn'd or fabled at the minstrel's will . 
Since shamed full oft by later lyres on earth, 
Mine dares not call thee from thy sacred hill . 
Yet there I 've wander'd by thy vaunted rill : 
Yes! sigh'd o'er Delphi's long deserted shrine,'' 
Where, save that feeble fountain, all is still ; 
Nor mote my shell awake the weary Nine 
To giace so plain a tale — this lowly lay dl 
mine. 



n. 

\^Tiilome in A'bion's isle there dwelt a youth, 
Who ne in virtue's ways did take delight ; 
But spent his days in riot most uncouth. 
And vex'd with mirth the drowsy ear <)( Night 
Ah, me ! in sooth he was a shameless wight, 
Sore given to revel and ungodly glee ; 
Few earthly things found favour in his sight 
Save concubines and carnal companie, 

And flaunting wassailers of high and xnvi 
degree. 



Childe Harold was he bight : — but whence hi« 

name 
And lineage long, it suits me not to say ; 
Suffice it, that perchance they were of fame. 
And had been glorious in another day : 
But one sad losel soils a name for aye. 
However mighty in,the olden time ; 
Nor all that heralds rake from cofEn'd cky, 
Nor florid prose, nor honied lies of rhyme, 
Can blazon evil deeds, or consecrate a crim» 



Childe Harold bask'd him in the noontide sii« 
Disporting there like any other fly. 
Nor deem'd before his little day was done 
One blast might chill him into misery. 
But long ere scarce a third of his pass'd by. 
Worse than adversity the Childe befell; 
He felt the fulness of satietyj 
Then loathed he in his native land to dwell, 
Which seem'd to him more lone than Ep» 
mite's sad cell 



CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 



271) 



For he through Sin's long labyrinth had run, 
Nor uuuie atonement when he did aniiss, 
Had sigh'd to many though he loved but one, 
And that loved oiue, alas! could ne'er be his- 
Ah, happy she ! to 'scape from him whose kiss 
Had been pollution unto aught so chaste ; 
Who soon had left her channs for vulgar bliss. 
And spoil'd her goodly lands to gild his waste. 
Nor calm domestic peace had ever deign'd 
to taste. 



A nd now Childe Harold was sore sick at heart, 
A nil from his fellow bacchanals would flee; 
'Tis said, at times the sullen tear would start, 
But Pride congeal'd the drop widiiu his e€: 
Apa.t he stalk'd in joyless reverie. 
And from his native land resolved to go, 
And visit scorching climes beyond the sea; 
With pleasure drugg'd, he dniost long'd for woe. 
And eeu for change of scene would seek 
the shades below. 



Ihe Childe departed from his father's hall ; 

It was a vast and venerable pile; 

So old, it seemed only not to I'all, 

Yet strength was pillar 'd in each massy aisle. 

Monastic dome I condemn'd to uses vile ! 

Where Superstition once had made her den 

Now Paphian girls were known to sing and 

smile; [agen, 

And monks might deem their time was come 

If ancient tales say true, nor wrong these 

holy men. 

VIII. 

Yet oft-times in his maddest mirthful mood 
Strange pangs would flash alongChilde Harold's 

brow, 
As if the memory of some deadly feud 
Or disappointed passion lurk'd below : 
But this none knew, nor haply cared to know; 
For his was not that open, artless soul 
That feels relief by bidding sorrow flow. 
Sot sought he fiiend to counsel or condole, 
Whate'er this grief mote be, which he could 

not control. 

IX. 

And none did love him — though to hall and 

bower 
He gather 'd revellers from far and near, 
He knew then flatt'rers of the festal hour; 
The heaitless pai-asiteii of piesent cheei-. 



Yea ! none did love him — not hislemans iear— 
But pomp and power alone are woman's cdie, 
And where these are light Eros fiiid^ u I't^cie ; 
Maidens, like moths, are ever caught by glaie, 
And Mammon wins liis way where Seraphs 
might despair. 

X. 

Childe Harold had a mother — not forgot, 
Though parting from that mother hedi<l shun 
A sister whom he loved, but saw her not 
Before his weary pilgrimage begun : 
If friends he h;wJ, he bade adieu to none. 
Yet deem not thence his breast a breast of steel : 
Ye, who have known what 'tis to dote upon 
A few dear objects, will in sadness feel 

Such partings break the heart they fondly 
hope to heal. 

XI. 

His house, his home, his heritage, his lands. 
The laughing dames in whom he. did delight, 
Whose large blue eyes, fair locks, and snowj 

hands. 
Might shake the saintship of an anchorite, 
And long had fed his youthful appetite ; 
His goblet.« brimra'a with every costly wine, 
And all that mote to luxury invite. 
Without a sigh he left to cross the brine, 
And traverse Paj-nim shores, and pass 
Earth's central line.^ 



The sails were fiU'd, and fair the light winds 

blew. 
As glad to waft him from his native home ; 
And fast the white rocks faded from his view, 
And soon were lost in circumambient foam: 
And then, it may be, of his wish to roam 
Repented he, but in his bosom slept 
The silent thought, nor from his lips did con e 
One word of wail, whilst others sate and wept, 
And to the reckless gales unmanly moaning 

kej)t. 

xiit. 
But when the sun was sinking in the sea 
He seized his harp, which he at times could 

string. 
And strike, albeit with untaught melody. 
When deem'd he no strange ear was listening? 
And now his fingers o'er it he did fling, 
And tuned his farewell in the dim twilight. 
While flew the vessel on her snowy wing. 
And fleeting shores receded from his sight. 
Thus to the elements he pour'd bis laal 
"Good Night' 



280 



CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 



1 



** Adieu, adien! my native shore 

Fades o'er the waters blue ; 
The Night-winds sigh, the breakers roar, 

ArA shrieks the wild sea-mew. 
i'on Sun that sets upo-n the sea 

We follow hi his flight ; 
FaiewoU awhile to him and thee, 

My natife Land — Good Night! 

"A few short hours and He will rise 

To give the morrow birth ; 
And I skill hail the main and skies^ 

But not my mother earth. 
Deserted is my own good hall. 

Its hearth is desolate; 
Wild weeds are gathering oa the wall ; 

My d<^ howls at the gate. 

" Come hither, hither, my little page I' 

\^'hy dost thou weep and wail ? 
Or dost thou dread the billow's rage. 

Or tremble at the gale ? 
But dash the tear-drop from thine eye; 

Our ship is swift and strong: 
Our rieetest falcon sciirce can fly 

More merrily along. 

Let winds be shrill, let waves roll high, 

I fear not wave nor wind : 
Yet marvel not, Sir Childe, that I 

Am sorrowful in mind ;* 
For I ha>e from my father gone, 

A mother whom 1 love. 
And have no friend, save these alone 

But thee — and one above. 

' My father bless'd me fervently, 

Yet did not much complain ; 
3ut sorely will my mother sigh 

Till I come back again.' — 
"\:'nough, enough, my little lad ! 

Sur-h tears become thine eye ; 
If I thy guileless bosom had. 

Mine own would not be dry. 

* Come hither, hither, my staunch yeoman,9 

Why dost thou look so pale ? 
Or dost thou dread a French foeman? 

Or shiver at the gale ?" — 
' Dcem'st thou I tremble for my life ? 

Sir Childe, I 'm not so weak ; 
3ul thinking on an absent wife 

Will blanch a faithful cheek. 

' My spouse and boys dwell near thy hall. 

Along the bordering lake. 
And when they on their father call, 

W'hat answer shall she make ? ' — 



" Enough, enough, mj yeoman good. 

Thy grief let none gainsay ; 
But I, who am of lighter mood, 
Will laugh to Mee away. 

" For who would trust the seemmg sif^ 

Of wile or paramour ? 
Fresh I'eres will dry the bright bine v^ 

We late saw streaming o'er. 
For pleasures past I do not grieve. 

Nor perils gathering near ; 
My greatest grief is that I leave 

No thing that claims a tear. 

" And now I 'm in the world alone. 

Upon the wide, wide sea: 
But why should 1 for others groan, 

W^hen none will sigh for me ? 
Perchance my dog will whine in vain. 

Till fed by stranger hands; 
>ut long ere I come back again 

He 'd tear me where he stands. 

" With thee, my bark, I '11 swiftly go 

Athwart the foaming brine; 
Nor care what land thou bear'st me to. 

So not again to mine. 
W^elcome, welcome, ye dark blue waves I 

And when you fail my sight. 
Welcome, ye deserts, and ye caves ! 

My native Land — Good Night!*" 



On, on the vessel flies, the land is gone. 
And winds are rude, in Biscay's sleeplessbay 
Four days are sped, but with the fifth, antti, 
New shores descried make every bosom gsy ; 
And Cintra'smounti.in greets them on their way 
And Tagus dashing onward to the deep, 
His fabled golden tribute bent to pay. 
And soon on board the 1-usian pilots leap 
And steer 'twixt fertile shores where yet re\t 
rustics reap. 



Oh, Christ ! it is a goodly sight to see 
WhatHeaveB hath done for this delicious and! 
What fruits of fragrance blush on even tree ! 
What goodly prospects o'er the hills ex}.flnd ! 
But man would mar them with an impious luuid- 
A nd when the Almighty lifts his fiercest scourge 
'Gainst those who most transgress hishigh com- 
mand. 
With treble vengeance will his hot shafts urge 
Gaul's locust host, and earth from fellesi 
foemen purge. 



CHILDE HAROLDS PILGRIMAGE. 



28] 



XVI 

What beauties cloth Lisboa first unfold ! 
Her image tioatiiig on that noble tide, 
Which ])oets vainly pave with sands of gold. 
But now whereon a thousand keels did ride 
O.' mighty strength, since Albion was allied, 
And to the Lusians did her aid atibrd : 
nation swoln with ignorance and pride, 
/ho li('k yet loathe the hand that waves the 
sword [sparing lord. 

To save them from the wrath of Gaul's un- 

XVII. 

But whoso entereib within this town, 
That, sheening far, celestial seems to be, 
Discorisolate will wander up and down, 
'Mid many things unsightly to strange ee ; 
For hut and palace show like tilthily ; 
The dingy denizens are lear'd in dirt; 
Ne personage of high or mean degree 
Doth care for cleanness of surtout or shirt. 
Though shent with Egypt's plague, unkempt, 
unwash'd ; unhurt. 

XTIII. 

Poor, paltr)' slaves ! yet born 'midst noblest 

scenes — 
Why, Nature, waste thy wonders on such men ? 
Lo! Cintra's'o glorious Eden intervenes 
In variegated maze of mount and glen. 
Ah, me ! what hand can pencil guide, or pen, 
To follow half on which the eye dilates 
Through views more dazzling unto mortal ken 
Than those whereof such things the bard relates, 
W^ho to the awe-struck world uulock'd Ely- 
sium's gates ? 



T'le horrid crags, by toppling convent crown'd. 
Tie cork-trees hoar that clothe the shaggy 

steep, [brown 'd, 

The mountain-moss by scorching skies ini- 
Iho sunken glen, whose sunless shrubs must 

weep, 
rh • tender azure of the unruffled deep, 
The orange lints that gild the greenest bough, 
riie torrents that from cliff to valley leap, 
The vine on high, the willow branch below, 
Mix'd in one mighty scene, with variea 

beauty glow. 



Then slowly climb the many-winding way, 
And frecjuenl turn to linger as you go. 
From loftier rocks new loveliness survey. 
And rest ye at " Our Lady's house of woe ;"'! 



Where frugal monks their little relics shjw. 
And sundry legends to the stranger tell : 
Here impious men have punisli'd been, and lo' 
Deep in yon cave Houorius long did dwell, 
In hope to merit Heaven by making earth a 
HeU. 



And here and there, as up the crags you spring, 
Mark many rude-carved crosses near the patli: 
Yet deem not these devotion's offering — 
These are memorials frail of murderous wrath* 
For wheresoe'er the shrieking victim hath 
Pour'd forth his blood beneath the assassin' 

knife, 
Some hand erects a cross of mouldering lath. 
And grove and glen with thousand such are rife 
Thioughout this puq)le land, where law se 
cures not life.'=^ 



On sloping mounds, or in the vale beneath. 
Are domes where whilome kings did make 

repair; [breathe 

But now the wild flowers round them onlj 
Yet ruin'd splendour still is lingering there. 
And yonder towers the Prince's palace lair: 
There thou too, Vathek ! England's wealthiest 

son. 
Once form'd thy Paradise, as not aware 
When wanton Wealth her mightiest deeds hatb 

done, [to shim. 

Meek Peace voluptuous lures was everwout 



Here didst thou dwell, here schemes of plea^ 

sure plan. 
Beneath yon mc untain's ever beauteous brow; 
But now, as if a thing unblest by Man, 
Thy fairy dwelling is as lone as thou ! 
Here giant weeds a passage scarce allow 
To halls deserted, portals gaping wide ; 
Fresh lessons to the thinking bosom, how 
Vain are the pleasaunces on eailh supplied ; 
Swept into wrecks anon by Time's migeniU 
tide! 

XXIV. 

Behold the hall where chiefs were late c<m 

vt;ned ! '3 
Oh ! dome displeasing unto Bntish eye! 
With diadem hight foolscap, lo I a fiend, 
A little fiend that scoffs incessantlj. 



282 



CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 



There sits in parchment robe an-ay'd, and by 
His side is hung a seal and sable scroll, 
Where blazon'd glare names known to chivahy, 
And sundry signatures adorn the roll, 
Whereat the Urchin points, and laughs with 
all his soul. 



Convention is the dwarfish demon styled 
That Ibil'd the kniyhts in Marialva's dome: 
Of brains (if brains tliey had) he them beguiled, 
And turn'd a nation's shallow joy to gloom. 
Here Foily dash'd to earth the victor plume, 
And Policy regain'd what arms had lost: 
For chiefs like oursin vain may laurels bloom! 
Woe to the conqu'ring,nottbeconquer'd host, 
Since baffled Triumph droops on Lusitania's 
coast ! 



And ever since that martial synod met, 
Britaii.iia sickens, Cintra ! at thy name ; 
And folks in oflice at the mention fret, 
And fain would blush, if blush they could, foi 

shame. 
How will posterity the deed proclaim ! 
Will not our own and fellow-nations sneer, 
To view these champious cheated of their tame, 
By foes in fight o'erihrown, yet victors here, 
Where Scorn her finger points through 
many a coming year ? 

XXVII. 

So decm'd the Childe, as o'er the mountains he 

Did uike his way in solitary guise : 

Sweet was the scene, yet soon he thought to 

flee. 
More restles -. than the swallow in the skies : 
Tliou;rh here awhile he learn'd to moralize. 
For Meditatio.^ fix'd at times on him ; 
And conscious Reason whisper'd to despise 
His early youth vnisspent in maddest whim; 
But as he gai«.d on li-uth nis aching eyes 

grew diiii. 

JlXVIII. 

T-) horse! to horse I he quits, for ever quits 
A scene of peace, though soothing to his sou : 
Again he rouses from his moping fits. 
But seeks not uf)w the harlot antl the bowl. 
Onward he files, nor fix'd as yet the goal 
Whjre he shall rest him on his pilgrimage ; 
Aai;. og* him many changing scenes must roll 
Ere toil his thirst for travel can assuage. 
Or he shall calm his breast, or leain experience 



XXIX. 

Yet Mafra shall one moment claim delay, 
Where dwelt of yore the Lusians' lucklesj 

queen ;•■* 
And church and court did mingle their airay. 
And mass and revel were alternate seen 
Lore? lings and ireres — ill-sorted try 1 ween ! 
But here the Babylonian whore hath built 
A dome, wtiere fiaunts she in such gloriou 

sheen, 
That men forget the blood which she hath spilt, 
And bow the knee t9 Pomp that loves to 

varnish guilt. 

XXX. 

O'er vales that teem with fruits, romantic hills, 
(Oh, that such hilis upheld a treeboni race !) 
Whereon to gaze the eye with joyaunce fills, 
Childe Harold wends thi-ough many a pleasant 

place, 
Though sluggards deem it but a foolish chase, 
And marvel men should quit their easy chair. 
The toilsome way, and long, long league to 

trace, 
Oh ! there is sweetness in the mountain air, 
And life, that bloated Ease can never hope 

to share. 

XXXI. 

More bleak to view the hills at length recede. 
And, less luxuriant, smoother vales extend; 
Immense horizon-boundeil plains succeed'. 
Far as the eye discerns, withouten end, 
Spain's realms appear whereon her shepherJa 
tend knows — 

Flocks, whose rich fleece right well the tradei 
Now must the pastor's arm his lambs defend : 
For Spain is compass'd by unyielding foes. 
And all must shield their all, or shaie Sub. 
jection's woes. ^j 

XXXII. 

Where Lusitania and her Sister meet. 
Deem ye what bounds the rival realms dividti 
Or ere the jealous queens of nations gi-eet, 
Doth Tayo interpose his mighty tide? 
Or dark Sierras rise in craggy pride? 
Or fence of art, like China's vasty wall? — 
Ne barrier wall, ne river deep and wide, 
Ne horrid crags, nor mountains dark and tall, 
Rise like the rocks that part Hispania'slanC 
from Gaul : 

XXXIII. 

But these between a silver streamlet glides. 
And scarce a name distinguisheth the brook. 
Though rival kingdoms press its verdant sides 
Here leans the idle shepherd on his crook. 
And vacant on the rippling waves doth look, 



OHILDE HAliOLDS PILGRIMAGE. 



283 



That peaceful still 'twixt bitterest foemen flow ; 
For proud each peasant as the noblest duke : 
Welldoih the Spanish hind the (litierence know 
'Twixt him and Lusiau slave, the lowest of 
the low. 

XXXIV. 

But ere the mingling bounds have far been 

pass'd, 
Dark Guadiana rolls his power along 
lu sullen billows, inurmuring and vast, 
So noted ancient roundelays among. 
Whilome upon his banks did legions throng 
Of Moor and Knight, in mailed splendoiu'drest: 
Here ceased the swift their race, here sunk 

the strong : 
The Paynim turban and the Christian crest 
Mix'd on the bleeding stream, by floating hosts 

oppress'd. 

XXXV, 

Oh, lovely Spain ! renown'd, romantic land ! 
Where is that standard which Pelagio bore. . 
When Cava's traitor-sire first call'd the band 
That dyed thy mountain streams with Gothic 

gore?'5 
Where aie those bloody banners which of yore 
Waved o'er thy sons, victorious to the gale, 
And drove at last the spoilers to their shore ? 
Red gleam'd the cross, and waned the crescent 

pale, " [mauons' wail. 

While Afric's echoes thi-ill'd with Moorish 

XXXVI. 

Teems not each ditty with the glorious tale? 

Ah ! such, alas ! the hero's amplest- fate ! 

When granite moulders and when records fail, 

A peasant's plaint prolongs his dubious date. 

Pride I bend thine eye from heaven to thine 
estate. 

See how the mighty shrink into a song ! 

Can Volume, Pillar, Pile, preserve thee great? 

Or must thou tiust Tradition's simple tongue, 
When Flattery sleeps with thee, and His- 
tory does thee wrong? 

xxxvir. 
iwake, ye sons of Spain : awake ! advance ! 
Lo I Chivalry, your ancient goddess, cries ; 
Bat wields not, as of old, her thirsty lance. 
Nor shakes her crimson plumage in the skies. 
Now on the smoke of blazing bolts she flies, 
And speaks in thunder through yon engine's 

roar ! 
In ever^' peal she calls — " Awake ! arise !" 
Say, is her voice more feeble than of yore. 
When her \Nar-song was heard on Anda- 
lusia's shore? 



XXXVIl 

Hark! heard you not those >oofs of dreadfu. 

note? 
Sounds not the clang of conflict on the heath? 
Saw ye not whom the reeking sabre smote ; 
Nor saved your brethren ere they sank beneath 
Tyrants and tyrants' slaves ? — the fires of death, 
The bale-fires flash on high: — from rock to 

rock Lbi'eathe ; 

Each volley tells that thousands cease W 
Death rides upon the sulphury Siroc, 

Red Battle stamps his foot, and nations fcei 

the shock. 

XXXIX. 

Lo ! where the Giant on the mountain stands, 
His blood-red tresses deepning in the sun. 
With death-shot glowing in his fieiy hands, 
And eye that scorchelh all it glares upon ; 
llestless it rolls, now fix'd, and now anon 
Flashing afar, — and at his iron feet [done; 
Destruction cowers, to mark what deeds are 
For on this morn three potent nations meet, 
To shed before his shAie the blood he 
deems most sweet. 



By Heaven ! it is a splendid sight to see 
(For one who hath no i"''end, no brother therfe) 
"Their rival scarfs of mix d embroidery. 
Their various arms that gliiter in the air ! 
What gallant war-hounds rouse them from 

their lair, [pi'ey I 

And gnash their fangs, loud yelling lor the 

All join the chase, but few the triumjih share; 

The Grave shall bear the chiefcst prize away, 

And Havoc scarce for joy can niamber their 

array. 

XLI. 

Three hosts combine to offer sacrifice ; 
Three tongues prefer strange orisons on high 
Three gaudy standards flout the pale blue 

skies ; 
The shouts are France. Spain, Albion,Victory! 
The foe, the victnn, and the fond ally 
That fights for all, but ever fights in vain. 
Are met — as if at home they coulu not aie — 
To feed the crow on Talavera's plain, [gain. 
And fertilize the field that each pretends '/t 

XLII. 

There shall they rot — Ambition's honour'd 
fools'. [clay! 

Yes, Honour decks the turf that wraps iheil 
Vain Sophistiy ! in these behold the tools. 
The broken tools, that tyrants cast away 
By myriads, when they dare to pave their waj 



284 



CHILDE HAROLDS PILGRIMAGE. 



With human hearts — ^to what? — a dream 

alone. [sway? 

Can despots compass aught that hails their 

Or call with truth one span of earth their o^vn, 

Save that wherein at last they crumble bone 

by bone ? 



Oh, AlLuera, glorious field of grief! 
As o'er thy plain the Pilgrim pric.k'd his steed, 
Who could forej^ee thee, in a spuce s" l^'ipf 
A scene where mingling foes should boast and 

bleed ! 
'Peace to the perish'd! may the wamor's meed 
And tears of triumph their reward prolong ! 
Till others fall where other chieftains lead, 
Thy name shall circle round the gaping 

throng, [transient song. 

And shine in wortliless lays, the theme of 



Enough of Battle's minions I let them play 
Their game of lives, and barter breath for fame: 
Fame that will scarce re-animate their clay, 
Though thousands fall to deck some single 

name. 
In sooth 'twere sad to thwart their noble aim 
Who strike, blest hirelings 1 for their country's 

good, [shame; 

And die, that Uving might have proved her 
Perish'd, perchance, in some domestic feud, 
Or in a narrower sphere wild Rapine's path 

pm-sued. 

XLV. 

Full swiftly Harold wends his lonely way 
Where proud Sevilla triumphs unsubdued : 
Yet is she free — the spoiler's wished -for prey! 
Soon, soon shall Conq test's fiery foot intrude, 
Blackening her lovely domes with traces rude. 
Inevitable hour! 'Gainst fate to strive 
Whc.-e Desolation plants her famish'd brood 
Is vain, or Ilion, Tyre might yet suivive. 
And Virtue vam^uiih all, and Murder cease 
to thiive. 



But all imconscious of the coming doom. 
The feast, the song, the revel here abounds; 
Strange modes of meiTiment the hours con- 
sume, [wounds: 
Nor bleed these patriots with their country's 
Nor here Wai-'s claiion, but Love's rebeck i** 
sounds; 



Here Folly still his votaries inthralls; 

And young-eyed Lewdness walks her midnigb 

rounds: 
Girt with the silent crimes af Capitals, 

StiU to the last kind Vice clings to the U* 
t'riug walls. 

XLVII 

Not so the rustic — with his trembling mate 
He lurks, nor casts liis heavy «-.ve afar, _ 
Lest he should view his vineyard desoiatfi, 
Blasted below the dun hot breath of war-. 
No more beneath soft Eve's consenting star 
Fandango twrls his jocund ca-stanet: [r*ar 
Ah, monarchs! could ye taste the mirth y€ 
Not in the toils of Glory would ye I'ret; 
The hoarse dull chum vvould sleep, and Man 
be happy yet! 

XLVIII. 

Hdw carols now the lusty muleteer? 
Of love, romance, devotion in his lay. 
As whilome he was wont the leagues to cheer, 
His quick bells wildly jingling on the way? 
No! as he speeds, he chants " Viva el Rey !"l' 
And checks his song to execrate Godoy, 
The royal witlol Charles, and curse the day 
When iirst Spain's queen beheld the black-eyed 
boy, [adulterate joy. 

And gore-faced Treason sprung from her 

XLIX. 

On yon long, level plain, at distance crouTi'd 
With crags, whereon those Moorish turrets 

rest, [groimd; 

Wide scatter'd hoof-marks dint the wounded 
4nd, scathed by fire, the greensward's darken'd 

vest 
Tells that the foe was Andalusia's guest: 
Here was the camp, the watch-flame, and tbe 

host, [nest J 

Here the bold peasant storm'd the dragon's 
Still does he mark it with triumphant boast, 
And points to yonder clifls, which oft wer« 

won and lost. 



And whomsoe'er along the path you meet 
Bears in his cap the badge of crimson hue, 
W' hich tells you whom to shun and whom to 

greet '8 
Woe to the man that walks in public view 
Without of loyalty this token true: 
Sharp is the knife, and sudden is the stroke; 
And sorely would tlie Gallic foeman rue. 
If subtle poniards, wrapt beneath the cloke. 
Could blunt the sabre's edge, or clear Um 

cannon's smoke. 



CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 



285 



At every turn Morena's dusky height 
Sustains aloft the battery's iron loud; 
And, far as uiortiil eye can compass sight, 
The mountain-howitzer, the broken road. 
The bristling piUisade, the fosse o'ertlow'd, 
The statiou'd bands, the never-vacant watch, 
The mag.izinc in rocky durance stow'il, 
The holsler'd steed beneath the shed of thatcli. 
The ball-piled pyramid i9, the ever-blazing 
match, 

LII. 

Portend the deeds to come: — but he whose nod 
Has tumbled feebler despots from their sway, 
A moment pauseth ere he lifts the rod; 
A little moment deigneth to delay: 
Soon will his legions sweep through these their 
way; [world. 

The West must own the Scourger of the 
Ah! Spain! how sad will be thy reckoning- 
day, [unfurl'd. 
When soars Gaul's Vulture, with his wings 
And thou shidt view thy sons in crowds to 
Hades hurl'd. 

LIU. 

And must they fall? the young, the proud, the 
brave, [reign? 

To swell one bloated Chiefs unwholesome 

No step between submission and a grave? 

The rise of rapine and the fall of Spain? 

And doth the Power that man adores ordain 

Their doom, nor heed the suppliant's appeal? 

Is all that desperate Valour acts in vain? 

And Cdunsel sage, and patriotic Zeal, 

The Veteran's skill, Yoitlh's fire, and Man- 
hood's heart of steel? 

LIV. 

's it for this the Spanish maid, aroused, 
Hangs on the willow her unstrung guitar, 
And, all luisex'd, the anlace hath es])oused. 
Sung the loud song, and dared the deed of war? 
A nil she, whom once the semblance of a scar 
Ai>paird, an owlet's larum chill'd with dread. 
Now views the column-scattering bay'net jar, 
Ihc falchion tiash, and o'er the yet waini dead 
Stalks with Minerva's step where Mars 
might quake to tread. 

x.v 
Ye who shall marvel when you hear her tale, 
Oh ! had you known her in her softer hour, 
Mark'd her black eye that mocks her coal- 
black veil. 
Heard her light, lively tones in Lady's bower, 
Seen her lung locks that foil the painter's power, 



Her fairy form, with more than female glare 
Scarce would you deem that Saragoza's tower 
Beheld her smile in Danger s Gorgon face. 
Thin the closed ranks, and lead in Glory's 
fearful chase. 

r.vi. 

Her lover sinks — she sheds no ill-timed tear, 
Her chief is slain — »he fills his fatal j'ost ; 
Her fellows dee — she checks their bav' .-areer; 
The foe retires — she heads the sallying host 
Who can ajipease like her a lover's ghost? 
Who can avenge so well a leader's fall? 
What maid retrieve when man's flush'd aope 

is lost? 
Who hang so fiercely on the flying Gaul, 
Foil'd by a woman's hand, before a batter'd 
waU?30 



Yet are Spain's maids no race of Amazons, 
But forai'd for all the witching arts of love: 
Though thus in arms they emulate her sous 
And in the horrid phalanx dure to move 
'T is but the tender fierceness of the dove. 
Pecking the hand thai hovers o'er her mate : 
In softness as in firmness far above 
Remoter females, famed for sickening prate ; 
Her mind is nobler sure, her charms per- 
chance as gi'eat 

I.VIII. 

The seal Love's dimpling finger hath impress'd 
Denotes how soft that chin which bears his 

touch: 
Her lips, whose kisses pout to leave their nest 
Bid man be valiant ere he merit such: 
Her glance how wildly beautiful ! how mueh 
Hath Phoebus woo'd in vain to spoil her cheek. 
Which glows yet smoother from his amorous 

clutih! [seek? 

Who round the North for paler dames would 

How poor their forais appeiu'! how languid, 

wan, and weak ! 



Match me. ye climes! which poets love to 

laud ; 
Match me, ye hurams of the land ! where now 21 
I strike my strain, far distant, to applaud 
Beauties that ev'n a cynic must avow ; 
Match me those Houries,whomye scarce allow 
To taste the gale lest Love should ride the wind, 
With Spain's dark-glancing daughters — deign 

to know. 
There your wise Prophet's paradise we find, 
His black-eyed maids of Heaven, augeUcaliy 

kind. 



286 



CHILDE HAROLD'S PILT^RIMAGE. 



Ob, thou Paniassus^S ! whom I now survey, 
Not iu the pluensy of a dreamer's eye, 
Not ill the fabled landsc;ape of a lay, 
But soaring snow-clad through thy native sky, 
In the wild pomp of mountain majesty 1 
What marvel if I thus essay to sing? 
The humblest of thy pilgrims passiug by 
Would gladly wooUiine Echoes with his string, 
Though froti thy heights no more one Muse 
will wave her wing. 



Of', have I dream'd of Thee ! whose glorious 

name 
Who knows not, knows not man s divinest lore: 
And now I view thee, 'tis, alas! with shame 
That I in feeblest accents must adore. 
When I recount thy worshippers of yore 
1 tremble, and can only bend the knee ; 
Nor raise my voice, nor vainly dare to soar, 
But gaze beneath thy cloudy canopy 
In silent jo} to think at last I look on Thee! 



Happier m this than mightiest bards have been, 
Whose fate to distant homes confined their lot, 
Shall I unmoved behold the hallow'd scene, 
Which others rave of, though they know it 

not? 
Though here no more Apollo haunts his grot. 
And tliou, the Muses' seat, art now their grave. 
Some gentle spirit still pervades the spot, 
Sighs in the gale, keeps silence in the cave. 
And glides wiih glassy foot o'er yon melo- 
dious wave. 

I.XIII. 

Of Uee hereafter. — Ev'n amidst my strain 
I tm-n'd aside to pay my homage here ; 
Forgot the land, the sons, the maids of Spain ; 
Her fate, to eveiy freeborn bosom deai- ; 
And hail'd thee, not perchance without a tear. 
Now V; my tlieme — but from thy holy haunt 
Lei me some remnant, some mcuKU-ial beai" ; 
Vield me one leaf of Daphne's deathless plant. 
Nor let thy votai-y's hope be deem'd an idle 
vaimt. 



But ne'er didst thou, fair- Mount ! when Greece 

was young, 
See round thy giant base a brighter choir, 
Nor e'er did J)elphi, when her priestess sung 
Tlie Pythian hymn with more than mortal lire, 



Behold a train more fitting to inspire 
The song of love than Andalusia's maids, 
Nurst in the glowing lap of soft desire : 
Ah ! that to these wcie given such peacef ti 
shades ^her glades. 

As Greece can still bestow, though Glory flj 



Fair is proud Seville ; let her country boast 
Her strength, her wealth, her site of anci( i 

days ; 
But Cadiz, rising on the distant coast, 
Calls forth a sweeter, though ignoble praise. 
Ah, Vice ! how soft are thy voluptuous ways ! 
While boyish blood is mantling, who can 'scape 
The fascination of thy magic gaze ? 
A Cherub-hydra round us dost thou gape, 
And mould to every taste thy dear delusive 
shape. 

LXVI. 

When Paphos fell by Time — accinscd Time 
The Queen who conquers all must yield to 
thee — [clime 

The Pleasm-es fled, but sought as wunn a 
And Venus, constant to her native sea. 
To nought else constant, hither deign'd to flee 
And fix'dher shrine within these walls of white; 
Though not to one dome cuxumscribeth she 
Her worsliip, but, devoted to her rite, 

A thousand altars rise, for ever blazing 
bright. 

LXVII. 

From mom till night, from night till startled 

Morn 
Peeps blushing on the revel's laughing crew^-- 
The song is heard, the rosy gai-land worn ; 
Devices ({uaiut, and frolics ever new, 
Tread on each other's Idbes. A long adieu 
He bids to sober joy that here sojourns : 
Nought interrupts the riot, though in lieu ' 
Of true devotion monkish incense bmns. 
And love and prayer unite, or rule the houi 
by turns. 

LXVIII. 

The Sabbath comes, a day of blessed rest ; 
What hallows it upon this Christia,ii shore ? 
Lo ! it is sacred to a solemn feast : 
Hiirk ! heard you not the forest monarch'i 

roar? [gore 

Crashing the lance, he snufl's the spouting 
Of man and steed, o'erthrown beneath hia 

horn ; [more ; 

The thi'ong'd arena shakes with shouts foi 

Yells the mad crowd o'er entrails fi'eshly torn. 

Nor shrinks the female eye, nor ev'n afl'ecU 

to mourn. 



CmLDE HAROLD S PILGRIMAGE. 



287 



The seventh day this ; the jubilee of man. 
Lon Jon ! nght well thou know'st the day of 

prayer : 
Tlien thy spruce citizen, wash'd artisan, 
And smug apprentice gulp their weekly air: 
Thy coach of hackney, whiskey, one-horse 
chnir, [whirl ; 

And humblest gig through sundiy suburbs 
To Hampstead, Brentford, Haj'row, make re- 
pair ; 
Till the tired. jade the wheel forgets to hurl. 
Provoking envious gibe from each pedes- 
trian churl. 



Some o'er thy Thamis row the ribbon'd fair, 

Others along the Scifer turnpike fly ; 

Some Richmond-hill ascend, some scud to 

Waie, 
And many to the steep of Highgate hie. 
Ask ye, Bceotiar shades! the :eason why? 23 
"Tis to the worship of the solemn Horn, 
Grasp'd in the holy hand of Mystery, 
In whose dread name both men and maids are 

swora. 
And consecrate the oath 24 with draught, 

and dance till morn. 



All have tlieir fooleries — not alike are thine, 
Fair Cadiz, rising o'er the dark blue sea! 
Soon as the matin boll proclainicth nine, 
Thy saint ailorers count the rosary : 
Much is the Vikgin teased to shrive them free 
(Well do I ween the only virgin there) 
From crimes as numerous as her beadsmen be ; 
Then to the crowiled circus forth they fare : 
Vouiig, old, high, low, at once the same 
di\srsion share. 



LXXIII. 

Hush'd is the din of tongues — on gallant steed<^ 
With millc-white crest, gold spur, and lighl 

poised lance. 
Four cavaliers prepare for venturous deeds, 
And lowly bending to the lists advance, 
Rich are thoir scarfs, their chargers featlj 

pran ce : 
If in the dangerous game they shine to-day, 
The crowd's loud shout and ladies' loveiy 

glance, 
Best prize of better acts, they bear away, 
And all that kings or chiefs e'er gain tLexl 

toils repay. 

LXXIV. 

In costly sheen and gaudy cloak array 'd, 
But all afoot, the light-limb'd Matadore 
Stands in the centre, eager to invade 
The lord of lowing herds ; but not before 
The gi-ound, with cautious tread, is traversecl 
o'er, [speed 

Lest aught unseen should lurk to tliwart hit 
His arms a dart, he fights aloof, nor more 
Can man achieve without the friendly steed- 
Alas ! too oft condemn'd for him to'bear ami 
bleed. 

LXXV. 

Thrice sounds the clari*i: lo! the signal falla 
T])e den expands, and Expectati(m mute 
Gapes round tlie silent circle's peopled walls. 
Bounds w'lh (me lashiiig spring the mightj 

brvite. 
And, wildly staring, spurns, with soimdliisr fr>ot. 
The sand, nor Itlindly rushes on his foe : 
Here, there, he points his threatening Iront, 

to suit 
His first attack, wide waving to and fro 
His angry tail ; red rolls his eye's dilat d 

glow. 



The lists are oped, the spacious area clear 'd. 
Thousands on thousands piled are seated 

round ; 
Long ere the first lend trumpet's note is heard, 
Ne vacant space for lated wight is found : 
Here dons, grandees, but chiefly names abound, 
Skill' d in the ogle of a roguish eye. 
Yet ever well inclined to heal the wound ; 
None through their cold iisdain are doom'd to 

die, 
A8 moon-straek bards complain, by Love's 

sad archery. 



Sudden he stops ; his eye is fix'd : away, 
Away, thou heedless boy! prepare the spear- 
Now is thy time, to peri.>h, or displav 
The skill that yet may check his mad career 
With well-timed croupe25 the nimble courser* 

veer; 
On foams the bull, but not unscathed lie goes; 
Streams fiom his flank the crimson tonenl 

clear : 
He flies, he wheels, distracted with his throes; 
Dart follows dart ; lance, lance ; loud 

bellowings speak his woes. 



288 



CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 



Again he comes; nor .lart nor lance avail, 
Nor the wild plunging of the tortured horse ; 
Though man and man's avenging aims assail, 
Vain arc his weapons, vainer is his force, 
One gallant steed is stretch'd a mangled corse; 
\uclher, hideous sight! unseam'd appears, 
H s g)ry chest unveils life's panting source ; 
rboiigh'dealh-struck, still his feeble frame he 
reai-s ; [hann'd he bears. 

Staggering, but stemming all, his lord un- 

LXXVIII. 

Foil'd, bleeding, breathless, furious to thclast, 
Full in the centre stands the bull at bay. 
Mid wounds, and clinging darts, and lancos 

brast, 
And f(»es disabled in the brutal fray: 
And now the Matadores around him play, 
Shake the red cloak, . and poise the ready brand : 
Once more through all he bursts his thunder- 
ing way- 
Vain rage ! the mantle quits the conynge hand, 
Wraps his fierce eye — 'tis past — he sinks 
upon the sand l'^^ 

LXXIX. 

WTiere his vast neck just mingles with the 

spine, 
Sheathed in his form the deadly weapon lies. 
He stops — he starts — disdaining to decline: 
•Slowly he falls, amid?t triumphant cries, 
Without a groan, without a struggle dies. 
The decorated car appears — on high [eyes^ 
The corse is piled — sweet sight for vulgar 
Four steeds that spurn the rein, as swift as shy, 
Eurl the dark bulk along, scarce seen in 

dashing by. 

LXXX. 

Siich the ungentle sport that oft invites 

The Spanish maid, and cheers the Spanish 

swain. 
Nurtured in blood betimes, his heart delights 
In vengeance, gloating on another's pain. 
What private feuds the troubled village stain! 
Though now one phalanx'd host should meet 

the foe, 
Enough, alas! in humble homes remain, 
' . meditate 'gainst fiiends the secret blow, 
For some slight cause of wrath, whence 

life's warm stream must flow- 

LXXXI. 

But J'alone" has fled : his bars, his bohs, 
His wither'a xtntinel, Duenna sage! 
And all whereat the gcrerous soul revolts, - 
Which the stern dotard deem'd he could encage 



Have pass'd to darkness witt the vanisb'd 

age. 
Who late so free as Spanish girls were seen, 
(Ere War uprose in his volcanic rage,) 
With braided tresses bounding o'er the green, 
Wnile on the gay dance shone Night'i 
lover-loving Queen? 



Oh ! many a time, and oft, had Harold lovea 
Or dream'd he loved, since rapture is a dream, 
But now his wayward bosom was (inmoved. 
For not yet had he drunk of Lethe's stream; 
And lately had he learn'd with truth to deem 
Love has no gift so gi-ateful as his wings : 
How fair, how young, how soft soc'erheseem, 
Full from the fount of Joy's delicious springs 
Some bitter o'er the flowers its bulsbling 
venom tiings. 

I.XXXIII. 

Yet to the beauteous form he was not blind, 
Though now it moved him as it moves the 

wise ; 
Not that Philosophy on such a mind 
E'er deign'd to bend her chastely-awful eyes: 
But Passion raves itself to rest, or flies ; 
And Vice, that digs her own voluptuous tombj 
Had buried long his hopes, no more to rise: 
Pleasure's pail'd victim: life-abhorring gloom 
Wrote on his faded brow curst Cain's un- 

resting doom. 

LXXXIV. 

Still he beheld, nor mingled with the throng; 
But view 'd them not with misanthropic hate : 
Fain would he now have join'd the dance, the 

song ; 
But who mav smile that sinks beneatSf' h;» 

fate ? ' 
Nought that he saw nis sadness could abate 
Yet once he struggled 'gainst the demon's sM'ay 
And as in Beauty's bower he pensive sate. 
Pour d forth this unpremeditated lay, 

To charms as fair as those that sootlied hU 

happiei diij. 



TO INEZ. 



Nay, smile not at ray sullen bro«r; 

Alas ! 1 cannot smile again : 
Yet He?ven avert that ever thon 

Shonldst weep, and haply wfeqj.io vain 



CHILDE HAHOLD S PILGRIMAGE. 



289 



/knd <{ost ihou ask, what secre', woe 
I bear, corroding joy and youth? 

And wilt tiiou vainly seek to know 
A i>aug, evu thou must Tail to soothe ? 



t tS not lOve, it is not hate, 
Noi low Ambition's honours lost, 
Tip bi(ts me loathe mj present statjj 
And riy Irom all I prized the most: 



il is that weariness which springs 
From all I meet, or hear, or see : 

To me no pleasure Beauty brings; 
Thine eyes have scarce a chann for 

5. 
It is that settled, ceaseless gloom 

The fabled Hebrew wanderer bore; 
That will not look beyond the tomb, 

But cannot hope for rest before. 



What Exile from himself can flee? 

To zones, though more and more remote 
Still, still pursues, where-e'er I be, 

The blight of life— the demon Thought. 

7. 

Yet others rapt in pleasure seem, 
And taste of all that I forsake ; 

Oh ! may they still of transport dream, 
And ne'er, at least like me, awake ! 

8. 
Through many a clime 'tis mine to go. 

With many a retrospection curst ; 
And all my solace is to know, 

Whate'er betides, I 've known the worst. 



What is that worst? Nay do not ask — 

In pity from the search forbear 
Bmile on — noi venture to unmask 

Man's heart, and view the Hell tnat schere. 

LXXXV. 

Adieu, fair Cadiz ! yea, a long adieu ! 

Who may forget how well thy walls hare 

stood ? 
When all were changing thou alone werttrue. 
First to be frqe»,and last to be subdued : 
And if amidst a scene, a shock no rude, 

20 



Some native blood was seen thy streets to dye; 
A traitor only fell beneath the feud :27 
Here all were noble, save Nobility ; 

None hugg'd aconqueror's chain, save fallet 
Chivalry ! 

LXXXVI. 

Such be the sens of Spain, and strange herfatf ! 
They fight for freadora who were never free 
A Kingless people for a nerveless stale, «. 

Her vassals combat when their chieftains tic^ 
True to tlie veriest slaves of Tieachery ; 
Fortd of a land which gave them nought bm 

life, 
Pride points the path that leads to libeity; 
Back to the struggle, battled in the strife ; 
War, war is still the cry, " War even to tSt 
kniJe !"28 

LXXXVI I. 

Ye, who would more of Spain and Spanianj* 

know. 
Go, road whate'er is writ of bloodiest strife : 
Whate'er keen Vengeance ui-ged on foreign fo- 
Can act, is acting there against man's life : 
From flashing scimitar to secret kntfe, 
War niouideth there each weapon to his need- 
So may he guard the sister and the wife. 
So may he make each curst oppressor bleed. 
So may such foes deserve the most remor* 
less deed ! 

LXXXVIII. 

Flows there a tear of pity for the dead? 
Look o'er the ravage of the reeking plain; 
Look on the hands with female slaughter Kd; 
Then to the dogs resign the nnbinied slain, 
Then to the vulture let each corse remain; 
Albeit unworthy of the prey-bird's maw, 
Let their bleach'd bones, and bl(;od's unbleach 

ing stain. 
Long mark the battle-field with hideous awe 
Thus only may our sons conceive the scenes 
we saw J 



Nor yet alas! t}ie ireadful worlc is uune; 
Fresh legions pour adown the Pyrenees: 
It deepens still, the work is scarce begun, 
Nor mortal eye the distant end foresees. 
Fall'n nations gaze on Spain; if freed, she 

frees 
More than her fell Pi/.aiTos once enchain'd: 
Strange retribution ! now Columbia's ease 
Repairs the wrongs that Quito's sous sustain'd 
While o'er the paicnt clime prowls Murd«» 

un restrain 'a. 



290 



CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 



Not ail the blood at Talavera shed, 
Not all t!23 marvels of Barossa's fight, 
Not Albuera lavish of the dead, 
Have won for Spain her well asserted light 
When shall her Olive-Braneh l)e free from 
blight? [toil? 

When sLuil she breathe her from the blushing 
Ij^ow many a doribtful day shall sink in night, 
Ei-e the Frank robber turn hiiu from bis spoil, 
And Freedom's sti-anger-tree grow native of 
the soil! 



4nd thou, my friend ! 99 — since unavailing woe 
bursts from my heait, and mingles with the 

strain — 
Had the sword laid thee with the mighty low, 
}*iide miglu forbid e"en Fiiendship to complain : 
*nt thus unlaurel'd to descend in vain, 
iy all forgotten, save the lonely breast, 
and mix unbleeding with the boasted slain, 
IVhile Glory crowns so many a meaner crest! 
What hadst thou done to sink so peacefully 
to rest? 

xcn, 

Pli known the earliest, and esteem'd the most ! 
Dear to a heart where nought was left so dear ! 
Though to my hopeless days for ever lost, 
ji dreams deny me not to see thee here! 
And Morn in secret shall renew the tear 
Of Consciousness awaking to her woes. 
And Fancy hover o'er thy blootlless bier. 
Till my fnul frame return to whence it rose, 
And moum'd and mourner lie united ix), 
repose 

xcin. 

Here is one fytte of Harold's pilgrimage: 
ft; wlio of him may further seek to know. 
Shall find some tidings in a future page, 
If he that rhymelh now mxiy scribble moe. 
I<; this too much? stem Critic! say net so: 
ratience! and ye shall hear what he beheld 
In other lands, where he was doom'd to go: 
Lands that contain the monuments of Eld, 
Ere Greece and Grecian arts by barbarous 
httiids were quell'd. 



OTJiltJe l^arolti's pilgrimage. 



CANTO THE SECOND. 



Come, bine-eyed maid of heaven I — but thoa 

alas! 
I>idst never yet one mortal song inspire — 
Goddess of Wisdom! here t'iiy temple was. 
And is, despite of wai- and wasting fire,3') 
And years, that bade thy worship to expire : 
But worse than steel, and flame, and ages slow, 
Is the dread sceptre and dominion dire 
Of men who never felt the sacred glow 
That thoughts of thee and thine on polishV 

breasts bestow. 



Ancient of days! august Athena! where. 
Where are thy men of might? thy grand in 

sou)? [that wore 

Gone — glimmering through the dream of things 
First in the race that led to Glory's goal, 
They won, and pass'd away — is this the whole? 
A schoolboy's tale, Uie wonder of an hour! 
The warriors weapon and the sophist's stole 
Are sought in vain, and oer each raouUleriiig 

tower, [shade of power. 

Dim witii the mist of years, gray Jlits the 

III. 
Son of the morning, rise! approach you hen; 
Come — but molest not yon defenceless urn : 
Look on this spot — a nation's sepulchre ! 
Abode of gods, whose shrines no longer burn. 
Even gocis must yield — religions lake thtir 

turn: [creeds 

*Twas Jove's — 'tis Mahomet's — and other 

Will rise with other years, till man shall leani 

Vainly his incense soars, his victim b ecds 

Poor child of Doubt and Death, whos,e hope 

is built on reeds. 



Bound to the earth, he lifts his eye to heaven- 
Is 't not enough unhappy thing! to know 
Thou art? Is this a boon so kindly given, 
'J'hat being, thou would'st be again, and go, 
Thouknow'stnot,reck'stnotto what region, sc 
On earth no more, but mingled with tl.e skies? 
Still wilt thou dream on future joy and wo::? 
Regard and weigh yon dust before ii Hies: 
"That little urn saith more fhan thoUBa* 
soTOilj-es. 



CHILDE HAROLD'S PII.GRIJVIAGK. 



291 



Or bnrsl the ranish'd Hero's lofty mound; 
Far oil the solitary shore he sleeps t^l 
He fell, and falling nations mourn'd around; 
But now not one of saddening thousands weeps, 
Nor warlike worshipper his vigil keeps 
Whe'^-s denii-gods appear'd, as records tell. 
Remote yon skull from out the scatter'd heaps: 
s that a temple where a God may dwell? 
Why ev'n the wonn at last disdains her 
shatter d cell ! 



Look on its broken arcli, its ruin'd wall, 

Its chambers desolate, and portals foul: 
Ves, this was once Ambition's airy hall, 
Hie dome of Thought, the palace of the Soul : 

^hold through each lack-lustre, eyeless hole, 
i'he gay recess of Wisdom and of Wit 
Sjid Passion's host, that never brook'd control: 

a&n all saint, sage, or sophist ever writ, 
People this lonely tower, this tenement refit? 



R'ell didst thou speak, Athena's wisest son ! 
' A 11 that we know is, nothing can be known." 
J\'hy should we shrink lipm what we cannot 

shun ? 
Each hath his pang, but feeble sufferers groan 
Whh brain-born dreams of evil all their own. 
Pursue what Chance or Fate proclaimelh best ; 
Peace waits us on the shores of Acheron : 
There no forced banquet claims the sated guest. 
But Silence spreads the couch of ever wel- 
come rest. 



Vet if, as holiest men have deem'd, there be 
A land of souls beyond that sable shore, 
I'o shame the doctrine of the Sadducee 
And sophists, madly vain of dubious lore ; 
How sweet it were in concert to adore 
V^'ith those who maae our mortal labours light I 
I'o hear each voice we fear'd to hear no more ! 
Behold each mighty shade reveal'd to sight, 
The Bactrian, Samian sage, and all who 
iaught the right ! 



There, thou ! — whose love and life together fled, 
Save left me here to love and live in vain — 
Twined with mj- heart, and can I deem thee 

dead. 
When. busy memory flashes on my brain ? 
Weh — I will dream ihat we liiav meet again, 



And woo the vision to my vacant breast: 

If aught of young Remembrance then remain, 

Be as it may Futurity's behest, 

For me 't were bliss enough to know thj 
spirit blest ! 



Here let me sit upon this massy stone, 
The marble column's yet unshaken base ; 
Here, son of Saturn ! was thy fav'nte throne :3* 
Mightiest of many such 1 Hence let me trace 
The latent grandeur of thy dwelling-place. 
It may not be : nor ev'n can Fancy's eye 
Restore what Time hath labour'd to deface. 
Yet these proud pillars claim no passing sigh; 
Unmoved the Moslem sits, the light Greek 
cai-ols by. 

XI. 

But who, of all the phmderers of yon fane 
On high, where Pallas linger'd, loth to flee 
The latest relic of her ancient reign ; 
The last, the worst, dull spoiler, who was h«! 
Blush, Caledonia ! such thy son could be ! 
Fjfigland I I joy no child he was of thine: 
Thy free-born men should spare what once wa* 

free ; 
Yet they could violate each saddening shrin^ 
And bear these altars o'er the long-reluctan 
briiie,33 



But most the modem Pict's ignoble boast, 
To rive what Goth, and Turk, and Time hath 

spared : 
Cold as the crags upon his native coast. 
His mind as barren and his heait as hai'd, 
Is he whose head conceived, whose hand pre- 
pared, 
Aught to displace Athena's poor remains: 
Her sons too weak the sacred shrine to guard 
Yet felt some portion of their mother's pains, 
And never knew, till then, the weight ci 
Despot's cha'ns. 

XIII. 

What! shall it e'er be said by British tongue 
Albion was happy in Athena's tears? 
Though in thy name the slaves her bosom 

wrung. 
Tell not the deed to blushing Europe's ears; 
The ocean queen, the free Britannia, bears 
Thi last poor plunder from a bleeding land: 
Yes, she, whose gen'rous aid her name endears. 
Tore down those remnants with ahai-py'shand, 
Whiih envious il'i '"'ueboie, and tyrauuM 

to stand. 

u 3 



292 



CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 



Where was tbine ^Egis, Pallas ! that appali'd 
Stem Alaric and Havoc ou their way? 
Where Peleiis' son? whom Hell in vain en- 

thraU'd, 
His shade Irom Hades upon that dread day 
Bursting to light in terrible aiTay ! 
What ! could not Pluto spare the chief one© 

more, 
To scare a second robber frora bis prey? 
Idly he wander'd on the Stygian shore, 

Nor now preserved the walls be loved to 

shield belore. 



And t>b, the little warlike world within I 
The well-reeved guns, the netted canopy 
'i'be hoarse command, the busy humming die 
When, at a word, the tops are mannd on high 
Hark, to the Boatswain's call, the cheering cry 
While through the seaman's hand the tackl 

glides ; 
Or schoolboy Midshipman that, standing by 
trains his shrill pipe as good or ill betides, ' 
And well the docile crew that skillul ur<;hil 

guides. 



Cold is the heart, fair Greece ! that looks on 

thee. 

Nor feels as lovers o'er the dust they loved ; 

Dull is the eye that will not weep to see 

Thy walls defaced, thy m(»uldering shrines re- 
moved 

By British hands, which it had best behoved 

To guard those relics ne'er to be restored. 

Curst be the hour when from their isle they 
roved, 

And once again thy hapless bosom gored, 
And snatch'd thy shrinking Gods to northern 
climes abhon-'d! 



But where is Harold ? shall I then forget 
To urge the gloomy wanderer o'er the wave? 
Little reck'd he of all that men regret ; 
No lovgd-one now in feign'd lament could rave; 
No friend the parting hand extended gave. 
Ere the cold stranger pass'd to other climes: 
Hard is his heart whom charms may not 

enslave ; 
But Harold felt not as in other times, 

And le;t without a sigh the land of war and 



He that has sail'd upon the dark blue sea 
Has vievv'd at limes, I ween, a full fair sight; 
When the fresh breeze is fair as breeze may be, 
The white sail set, the gallant frigate tight ; 
Masts, spires, and strand retiring to the right, 
The glorious main expanding o'er the bow, 
The convov spread like wild swans in their 

flight, 
' :>■» r^ullest sailer wearing bravely now, 
Ho gaily curl the waves before each dashing 

prow. 



White is the glassy deck, without a stain. 
Where on the watch the staid Lieutenant Wiilk*, . 
Look on that part which sacred dulh remain .^f 
For the lone chieftain, who majestic stalks, 
Silent and fear'd by all — not oft he talks 
With aught beneath him. if he would preserve 
That strict restraint, which broken, evrr h J * 
Conquest and Fame: but Briums rarely sweiv* 
From law, however stern, which ten(U llu'ij 
strength to nerve 



Blow! swiftly blow, thou keel-compelling gale 
Till the broad sun withdraws his lessening )-ay 
Then must the pennant-bearer slacken sail. 
That lagging bai-ks may make their lazy way 
Ah ! grievance sore, ainl listless dull delay. 
To waste on sluggish hulks the sweetest bree/e 
What leiigues are lost, before the dawn of day 
Thus loitering pensive on the willing seas, 
The flapping sail baul'ddown to hiilt for hjgs 
like these ! 



The moon is up ; by Heaven a lovely eve I 
Long streams of light o'er dancing waves ex- 
pand ; [lieve ; 

Now lads on shore may sigh, and maids be- 
Such be our fate when we return to land ! 
jNIeantime some rude Arion's restless hand 
Wakes the brisk harmony that sailors love ; . 
A circle there of merry listeners stand. 
Or to some well-known measure I'eatly move. 
Thoughtless, as if on shore they siill were 
free to rove. 

XXII. 

Through Calpe's straits survey the steepy shoie; 
Europe and Afric on each other gaze I 
Lands of the dark-eyed Maid and dusky Mooi 
Alike beheld beneath pale Hecate's blaze* 



CIIILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 



293 



How softly on the Spanish shore she plays, 
Disclosing rock, and slope, and forest brown, 
Distinct, though daikeuing with her waning 

phase ; 
But Mauritania's giant-shadows frown. 

From inounliiiu clitf to coast dei>cending 

sombre down 

XXIII. 

1' i.s iiiirht, when Meditation bids us feel 
We once have loved, though love is at an end: 
The heart, lone mourner of its batHed zeal, 
Tiiough f.-ienilless now, will dream it had a 

friend. [bend, 

WTio with the weight of years would wish to 
When Youth itself survives young Love and 

Joy? 
Alas ! when mingling souls forget to blend, 
Death hath but little left him to destroy ! 
Ah ! happy years ! once more who would 

not be a hoy ? * 

XXIV. 

Thus bending o'er the vessel's laving side, 
To gaze on Dian's wave reflected sphere, 
The soul forgets her schtmcs of Hope and 

Pride, 
4nd flies unconscious o'«r each backward year. 
None are so desolate- but something dear. 
Dearer than self, possesses or possess'd 
A thought, and claims the homage of a tear; 
A flashing pang ! of which the weary breast 
Would still, albeit in vain, the heavy heart 
divesu 

To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell. 
To slowly trace the forest's sliady scene, 
Where things that own not man's dominion 

dwell, 
\ riO mortal foot hath ne'er or rarely been ; 
To climb the trackless moimtain all unseen. 
With the wild flock that never needs a Ibid ; 
.Mone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean; 
T)iis is not solitude; 'tis but to hold 

Converse with Nature's charms, and view 

her stores unroH'd. 

XXVI. 

I^ut "midst the crowd, the hum, the shock of 

men. 
To hear, to see, to feel, and to possess, 
\nd roam along, the world's tired denizen, 
With none who bless us, none whom we can 

bless ; 
Minions of splendour shrinking from distress ! 
None that, -with kindred crmsciousness endued. 
If we were not, would seem to smile the less 
Of all that flatter'd, follow'd, sought, and sued ; 
Thi.« is to be alone ; this, this is solitude ! 



XXVII. 

More blest the life of godly eremite. 
Such as on lonely Athos may be seen. 
Watching at eve np<m the giant height. 
Which looks o'erwavesso blue, skies so serene. 
That he who there at such an hour hath been 
Will wistful linger (m that hallow'd spot; 
Then slowly tear him from the 'witching scene. 
Sigh forth one wish that such had been his lot, 
Then turn to hate a W(»rld he had almost 
forgot. 



Pass we the long, unvarying course, the track 
0;t trod, that never leaves a trace behind ; 
Pass we the calm, the gale, the change, the 
tack, [wind 

And each well known caprice of wave ani\ 
Pass we the joys and sorrows sailors find, 
Cooji'd in their winged sea-girt citadel 
The foul, the fair, the contrary, the kind. 
As bree/.es rise and fall and billows swell. 
Till on some jocund mora — lo, land! anff 
all is well. 



But not in silence pass Calypso's is]es,34 
The sister tenants of the middle deep ; 
There for the weary still a haven smiles. 
Though liie fair goddess long hath ceased to 

weep. 
And o'er her cliff's a fruitless watch to keep 
For him who dared prefer a mortal bride: 
Here, too, his boy essay 'd the dreadful leap 
Stern Mentor urged from high to yonder tide ; 
While thus of both bereft, the njinph-queen 

doubly sigh'd. 



Her reign is past, her geiiile glories gone: 
But trust not this; too e isy youth, beware! 
A mortal sovereign holds her dangerous throne, 
And thou may'st find a new Calypso there. 
Sweet Florence! could another ever share 
This waywai'd, loveless heart, it would be 

thine: 
But check'd by every tie, I may not dare 
To cast a worthless ofl'ering at thy shrine. 
Nor ask so dear a breast to feel one pang 

for mine, 

XXXI. 

Til us Harold deem'd, as on tliat lady's eye 
Helook'd,and piet its beam without a thought 
Save Admiration glancintr ha-mless bv : 
Love kept aloof, albeit not fai rem Jte, 



294 



CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 



Who knew his votary often lost and caught, 
But knew him as his worshipper no more, 
And ne'er again the boy his bos'>m sought: 
Since now he vainly urged him ;o adore, 
Well deem d the"littl« God his ancient sway 
was o'er. 



Fair Florence found, in sooth with some amaze, 
One who, 'twas said, still sigh'd to all he saw, 
Withstand, unmoved, the lustre of her gaze. 
Which others hail'd with real or mimic awe, 
Their hope, their doom, their punishment, 

their law ; 
All that gay Beautyfromher bondsmen claims : 
And much she marvell'd that a youth so raw 
Nor felt, nor feign'd at least, the oft-told 

flames, [rarely anger dames. 

Which, though sometimes they frown, yet 

XXXIII. 

Little knew she that seeming marble heart. 
Now mask'd in silence or withheld by pride, 
W'as not unskilful in the spoiler's art.35 
And spread itssnares licentious far and wide ;36 
Nor from the base pursuit had turn'd aside, 
As long as aught was worthy to pursue : 
But Harold on such arts no more relied; 
A.nd had he doted on those eyes so blue, 
Yet never would he join the lover's whining 
crew. 



Mot much he kens, I ween, of woman's breast, 
Who thinks that wai ton thing is won by sighs; 
What careth she for hearts when once 

possess' d ? 
Do proper homage to thine idol's eyes ; 
But not too humbly, or she will despise 
Thee and thy suit, though told in moving 

tropes ; 
Disguise ev'n tenderness, if thou art wise ; 
Brisk Confidence still best with woman copes ; 
Pique her and soothe in turn, soon Passion 

crowns thy hopes. 

XXXV. 

'T IS an old lesson ; Time approves it true, 
And those who know it best, deplore it most; 
When all is won that all desire to woo, 
The paltry prize is hardly worth the cost: 
Youth wasted, minds degraded, honour lost, 
These are thy fruits, successful Passion ! these I 
If, kindly cruel, early Hope is crost. 
Still to the last it rankles, a disease. 

Not to be cured when Love itself forgets to 
please. - ' 



Away! nor let me loiter in my song. 
For we have many a mountain-path to trea^ 
And many a varied shore to sail along. 
By pensive Sadness, not by Fiction, led — 
Climes, fair withal as ever mortal head 
Imagined in its little schemes of thought; 
Or e'er in new Utopias were arod. 
To teach man what he might be, or he oug'it-, 
If that corrupted tiling could ever suor. he 
taught 



Dear Nature is the kindest mother still, 
Though alway changing, in her aspect milt! ; 
From her bare bosom let me take my fill 
Her never-wean'd, though not her favour 'd 

child. 
Oh ! she is fairest in hgr features wild. 
Where nothing polish'd dares pollute her path: 
To me by day or night she ever smiled, 
Though I have mai'k'd her when none oth-s 
hath, [best in wrath 

And sought her more and more, and loved ha 



Land of Albania ! where Iskander rose. 
Theme of the young, and beacon of the wise 
And he his namesake, whose oft-baifled foes 
Shi'unk from his deeds, of chivalrous emprize 
Land of Albania ! let me bend mine eyes 
On thee, thou rugged nurse of savage men! 
The cross descends, thy minarets arise, 
\m\ the pale crescent spai'kles in the glen, 
Through many a cypress gi'ove withhi each 
city's ken. 

XXXIX. 

Childe Harold sail'd, and pass'd the barren 

spot, 
Where sad Penelope o't-look'd the wave ; •'" 
And onward view'd the mount, not yd forgot, 
The lover's refuge, and the Lesbian's grave. 
Dark Sappho ! could not verse immortal save 
That breast imbued with such immortsd fire ? 
Could she not live who lif* eternal gave? 
If life eternal may await the lyre. 

That only Heaven to which Earth's children 

may aspire. * 



'T was on a Grecian autumn's gentle eve 
Childe Harold hail'd Leucadia's cape afar ;« 
A spot he long'd to see, nor cared to leave: 
Oft did he mark the scenes of vanish'd war 



OHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 



295 



Actinm, Lepanto, fatal Trafalgar; 39 
Mark them unmoved, for he would not delight 
(Born beneath some remote inglorious star) 
In themes of bloody fray, or gallant light, 
But loathed the hravo's trade, and laugh'd 
at martial wight 



HiH when he saw the evening star above 
I-'Mif-adia's far-pnrecting rock of woe. 
And hail'd the last resort of fruitless love, 
He felt, or deem'd he felt, no common glow : 
And as the stately vessel glided slow 
Beneath the shadow of that ancient mount, 
He watch'd the billows' melancholy flow, 
And, sunk albeit in thought as he was wont. 
More placid seem'd his eye, and smooth liis 
pallid front. 



Mom dawns ; and with it stem Albania's hills, 
Dark Suli's rocks, and Pindus' inland peak, 
Robed half in mist, bedew'd with snowy rills, 
Array'd in many a dun and purple streak, 
&.rise ; and, as the clouds along them break, 
Disclose the dwelling of the mountaineer : 
Here roams the wolf, the eagle whets his beak. 
Birds, beasts of prey, and wilder men appear, 
And gathering storms around convulse the 
closing year. 

XLIII. 

Now Harold felt himself at length alone. 
And bade to Christian tongues a long adieu ; 
Now he adventured on a shore unknown, 
Which all admire, but many dread to view : 
lis breast was arm'd 'gainst fate, his wants 

were few; 
Peril he sought not, but ne'er shrank to meet: 
The scene was savage, but the scene was new ; 
This made tt ) eas(?less toil of travel sweet. 
Beat back Keen winter's blast, and welcomed 
summer's heat. 

XLIV. 

flere the red cross, for still the cross is here, 
Though sadly scoflTd at by the circumcised. 
Forgets that pride to pamper'd priesthood dear; 
Churchman and votary alike despised. 
Foul Superstition ! howsoe'er disguised, 
Idol, saint, virgin, prophet, crescent, cross, 
For whatsoever symbol thou art prized, 
Thou sacerdotal gain, but general loss ! 
W\ o fro&i true worship's gold can separate 
thy dross ? 



Ambracia's gulf behold, where once was lost 
A world for woman, lovely, harmless thing! 
In yonder rippling hay, their naval host 
Did many a Roman chief and Asian king*" 
To doubtful conflict, certain slaughter bring : 
Look where the second Ceesar''! trophies rose !-*^ 
Now, hke the hands that retu'd them, wither 

ing; 
Imperial anarchs, doubling human woes ! 
God ! was thy globe ordain'd for such to 

win and lose ? 

XLVI. 

From the daik barriers of that rugged clime. 

Ev'n to the centre of Illyria's vales, 

Chiide Harold pass'd o'er many a mount 

sublime. 
Through lands scarce noticed in historic tales ; 
Yet in famed Attica such lovely dales 
Are rarely seen ; nor can fair Tempe boast 
A charm they know not; loved Parnassus fail* 
Though classic gioimd and consecrated mo.'^ 
To match some spots that lurk within th^ 
lowering coast. 

XLVII. 

He pass'd bleak Pindus, Acherusia's lake,42 
And left the primal city of the land, 
And onwards did his further journey take 
To gi-eet Albania's chief •i^, whose dread com- 

mand 
Is lawless law ; for with a bloody hand 
He sways a nation, turbulent and bold: 
Yet here and there some daring mountain-ban! 
Disdain his power, and from their rocky holt 
Hurl their detiance far, nor yield, unless to 
gold.44 

XLVIII. 

Monastic Zitza'lS ! from thy shady brow. 
Thou small, but favour'd spot of holy ground ! 
Where'er we gaze, around, above, below, 
What rainbow tints, what magic charms ar 

found ! 
Rock, river, forest, mountain, all abound, 
And bluest skies that harmonise the whole: 
Beneath, the distant torrent's rushing sotnid 
Tells where the volumed lataract dyth roll 
Between those hangirg rocks, that shock 

yet please the soul. 



Amidst the grove that crowns yon tufted hiU. 
Which, were it not for many a mountain n.^ 
Rising in lofty ranks, and loftier still, 
Might well itself be (feem'd of dignity, 



296 



CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 



The convent's white walls glisten fair on high : 
Here dwells the caloyer^G, nor rude is he, 
Nor niggard of his cheer ; the passer by 
Is welcome still ; nor heedless ^nll he flee 
From hence, if he delight kind Nature's 
sheen to see. 



ili.'Q. in the sultriest season let him rest, 
Fiesh is the green beneath those aged trees ; 
IJcre winds of gentlest wing will fan his breast, 
From heaven itself he may inhale the breeze : 
The plain is far beneath — oh ! let him seize 
Pure pleasure while he can ; the scorching ray 
Here pierceth not, impregnate with disease : 
Then let his length the loitering pilgiim lay. 
And gaze, untired, the morn, the noon, the 
eve away. 



Dusky and huge, enlarging on the sight, 
?J«ture's volcanic amphitheatre, *7 
Chimaera's alps extend from left to right: 
Beneath, a living valley seems to stir ; 
Flocks play, trees wave, streams flow, the 

mountain-fir 
Nodding above; behold black Acheron !*• 
Once consecrated to the sepulchre. 
Pluio ! if this be hell I look upon, 

Close shamed Elysium's gates, my shade 

shall seek for none. 



Ne city's towers pollute the lovely view ; 
Unseen is Yanina, though not remote, 
Veil'd by the screen of hills : here men are few, 
Scanty the hamlet, rare the lonely cot ; 
But, peering down each precipice, the goat 
Browseth ; and, pensive o'er his scatter'd flock, 
The little shepherd in his white capote 49 
Doth lean his boyish form along the rock. 
Or in his cave awaits the tempest's short- 
lived shock. 



h ! where, Dodona ! is thine aged grove, 
Prophetic fount, and oracle divine? 
What valley echoed the response of Jove? 
What trace remaineth of the Thunderer's 

shrine ? 
All, all forgotten — and shall m.an repine 
That his frail bonds to fleeting life are broke ? 
Cease, fool ! the fate of gods may well be thine : 
Wouldst thou sui-vive the marble or the oak? 
When nations, toogues, and worlds must 

•ink beneath the stroke ' 



Epirus' bounds recede, and mourtaius faiir- 

Tired of up-gazing still , the wearied eye 
Reposes gladly on as smooth a vale 
As ever Spring yclad in gi-assy die : 
Ev'n on a plain no humble beauties he, 
"Wlieresome bold river breaks the long expanse. 
And woods along the banks are waving higi^ 
Whose shadows in the glassy waters dance, 
Or with the moonbeam sleep in midnight's 
solemn trance. 



The sun had sunk behind vast Tomerit.^O 
And Laos wide and fierce came roaring by ;5l 
The shades of wonted night were gathering 

yet, _ _ _ ■ 

When, down the steep banks winding wai*ily 
Childe Harold saw, like meteors in the sky, 
The glittering minai-ets of Tepalen, 
Whose walls o'erlook tlie stream; and drawing 

nigh, 
He heard the busy hum of wamor-men 
Swelling the breeze that sigh'd along th* 

lengtl^aning glen. 



He pass'd the sacred Haram's silent tower. 
And underneath the wide o'erarching gate 
Survey 'd the dwelling of this chief of power, 
Where all around proclaim'd his high estate. 
Amidst no common pomp the despot sate, 
While busy preparation shook the couit. 
Slaves, eunuchs, soldiers, guests, and santon* 

wait ; 
Within, a palace, and without, a fort: 

Here men of every clime appear to make 
resort. 

LVII. 

Richly caparison'd, a ready row 
Of armed horse, and many a warlike store, 
Circled the wide-extending court below ; 
Above, strange groups adorn'd the corridore ; 
And oft-times through the area's echoing door, 
Some high-capp'd Tartar spurr'd his steed 

away : [Moor 

The Turk, the Greek, the Albanian, and the 
Here mingled in their many-hued array, 
VNTiile the deep war-drum's soimd announced 

the close of day. 



The wild Albanian kiitled to his knee. 
With shawl-girt head and oinamented gun>i. 
■And gpld-embroider'd garments, fair to ^ee 
-he crimson-scarfed men ofMaoed/nn; 



CHILDE IIAKOLDS PILGHIMAGE. 



257 



The Delhi with his cap of terror on, 
And crooked glaive ; the lively, supple Greek; 
And swurihy Nubia's mutilated son ; 
The bearded Turk, tliat rarely deigns to speak, 
Master of all around, too potent to be meek, 



Are mix'd conspieuous : some recline in groups, 
Scanning the motley scene that varies round; 
There some grave Moslem to devotion stoops. 
And some that smoke, and some that play, are 

found ; 
Here the Albanian proudly treads the ground ; 
Hall-whispering there the Greek is heai-d to 

prate ; [sound, 

Hark! from the mosque the nightly solemn 
The Muezzin's call doth shake the minaret, 
" There is no god but God ! — to prayer — 

lo ! God is gieat!"52 

LX. 

'ust at this season Ramazani's fast*3 
Through the long day its penance did maintain : 
But when the lingering twilight hour was past. 
Revel and feast assumed the rule again : 
Now- all was bustle, and the menial tiain 
Prepared and sjjread the plenteous board 

within ; 
The vacant gallery now seem d made in vain, 
^ut from the chambers came the mingling din, 
As page and slave anon were passing out 

and in. 



Her^ woman's voice is never heard: apart, 
Ana scarce permitted, guarded, veil'd, to move. 
She yields to one her person and her heart. 
Tamed to her cage, nor feels a wish to rove: 
For, not unhappy in her master's love, 
And joyful in a mother's gentlest cares, 
Hiest cares ! all other feelings far above ! 
f lerself more sweetly rears the babe she bears, 
■*,; Who never quits the breast, no meaner pas- 
'/' .sion shares. 

LXIl. 

xn marble-pived pavilion, where a spring 
Of living water from the centre rose. 
Whose buV "ing did a genial freshness fling, 
And soft voluptuous couches breathed repose, 
Ali reclined, a man of war and woes: 
jfet in his lineaments ye cannot trace. 
While Gentleness her milder radiance throw* 
Along that aged venerable face, 
The deeds that lurk beneath, and stain him 
with tHsgracer 



It is not that yon hoary lengthening bearu 
111 suits the passions which belong to youth: 
Love conquers age — so Hiifi/. hatn avcrr'd. 
So sings the Teian, and he sings in sooth — 
But crimes that scorn the tender voice of ruth 
Beseeming all men ill, but most the man 
In years, have mark'd him with a tiger's tooth 
Blood follows blood, and, through ihcir mor 
tal span, [blood began. ■^ 

In bloodier acta conclude those who wii.' 

LXIV. 

'Mid many things most new to ear juid eye 
The pilgiim rested here his weary feet. 
And gazed around on Moslem luxury. 
Till quickly wearied with that spacious seat - 
Of Wealth and Wantonness, the choice retrea- 
Of sated Grandeur from the city's noise: 
And were it humbler it in sooth were sweet. 
But Peace abhoiTeth artificial joys, 

And Pleasure, leagued with Pomp, the zest 
of both destroys. 

LXV, 

Fierce are Albania's children, yet they lack 
Not virtues, were those virtues more malare. 
^\^lere is the foe that ever saw their back? 
Who can so well the toil of war endure? 
Their native fastnesses not more secure 
Than they in doubtful time of troublous need 
Their wrath how deadly! but their friendship 

sure. 
When Gratitude or Valoui bids them bleed. 
Unshaken rushing on where'er their chiej 

may lead. 

r.xvi. 
Childe Harold saw them in their chieftain's 

tower, 
Thronging to war i)i splendour and success; 
And after view'd them, when, within theb 

power, 
Himself awhile the victim of distress; 
That saddening hour when bad men hotliei 

press : 
But these did shelter him beneath their roofj 
When less barbarians would have cheer d him 

less, 
And fellow-countrymen have stOLxl aloof 55 — . 
In aught that tries the heart how few with- 
stand the proof! 

LXVII. 

It chanced that adverse winds once drove hia 

bark 
Full on the coast of Suli's shaggy shore, 
When all around was desolate and dark 
To land was perilous, to stgotxm more; 



298 



CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 



Vet for awhile the mariners forbore, 
Dubious to trust where treachery might lurk: 
At length they ventured forth, though doubting 

sore [Turk 

That those who loathe alike the Frank and 

Might once again renew their ancient 

butcher-work, 

I-XVIII. 

Vain fear! the Suliotes stretch'd the welcome 

hand. 
Led them o'er rocks and past the dangerous 

swamp, 
Kinder than polish'd slaves though not so 

bland, [mcnts damp, 

And piled the hearth, and wi'ung their gar- 
And fill'd the bowl, and trimm'd the cheeiful 

lamp, [had: 

And spread i\ieir fare; though homely, all they 
Suchcondui ibears Philanthropy's rare stamp- 
To rest the wearj- and to soothe tlae sad, 
DotJi lesson happier men, and shames at 

least the bad. 

LXIX. 

It came to pass, that when he did address 
Himself to quit at length this mountain-land, 
Combined marauders half-way barr'd egi-ess. 
And wasted far and near with glaive and brand; 
And therefore did he take a trusty band 
To traverse Acarnania's forest wide. 
In war well season'd, and with labours tann'd, 
riJl he (lid greet white Achelous' tide. 

And from his further bank ^tolia's wolds 
espied. 



For ere night's midmost, stillest hour was paati 
The native revels of the troop began; 
Each Palikar^" his sabre from him cast, 
And bounding hand in hand, man link'd toman, 
Yelling their uncouth dirge, long daunced 
the kirtled clan.58 

LXXII. 

Cliilde Harold at a little distance stood, 
And view'd, but not displeased, the revelrie, 
Nor hated harmless mirth, however rude: 
In sooth, it was no vulgar sight to see 
Tlieir baibarous, yet their not indecent, glee, 
And, as the flames along their faces gleam'd, 
Their gestures nimble, dark eyes flashing free, 
The long wild locks that to iheir girdles stream'd, 
While thus in concert they this lay half sang, 
half scream'd : — 

1. 

Tambourgi! Tarnbourgi59! thy 1 arum afar 
Gives hope to the valiant, and promise of war 
All the sons of the mountains arise at the not€^ 
Chimariot, Illyrian, and dark Suliote! 



2. 



Oh I who is more brave than a dark Suliote, 
In bis snowy camese and his shaggy capote? 
To the wolf and the vulture he leaves his wilf 
flock, [the rock 

And descends to the plain like the stream fron 



Shall the sons of Chimari, who never forgive 
The fault of a friend, bid an enemy live! 
Let those guns so unerring such vengeano 

forego ? . 
What maik is so fair as the breast of a foe' 






Wliere hme Utraikey forms its circling cove, 
And weary waves retire to gleam at rest. 
How bi-own tlie foliage of the green hill's gi'ove. 
Nodding at midnight o'er the calm bay's breast. 
As winds come whispering lightly from the 

west. 
Kissing, not mffling, the blue deep's serene: — 
Here Harold was received a welcome guest; 
Nor did he pass unmoved the gentle scene. 
For many a joy could he from Night's soft 

presence glean. 



Macedonia sends forth her invincible race: 
For a time they abandon the cave and the cha.-)C, 
But those scai-fs of blood-red shall be redder, 

before 
The sabre is sheathed and the battle is o'er. 

6. 

Then the Pirates of Parga that dwell by lb 
waves. [slaves, 

And teach the pale Franks what it is to be 
Shall leave on the beach the long galley and oar. 
And track to his covert the captive on shore. 



On the smooth shore the night-fires brightly 

blazed. 
The feast was done, the red wine circling fast,5fi 
And he that unawares had there ygazed 
With gaping wonderment had stared aghast; 



I ask not the pleasures that ri<'hes supply. 
My sabre shall win what the feeble must buy, 
Shall win the young bride with her long flowing 

hair, 
And many a maid from hei" mother shall teaai 



CHILBE HAROLDS PILGRIMAGE. 



299 



I 1 JVC the fair face of the maid in her youth, 
Her caresses shall lull me, her music shall 
sdoth; [toned lyre, 

Let her bring from her chamber the many- 
And sing us a song on the fall of her sire. 

8. 

Remember the moment when Previsa fell ,60 
The shrieks of the conquerd, the conquerors' 

veil ; [shared. 

The roofs thai we fired, and the plunder we 
The wealthy we slaughter'd, the lovely we 

spai'ecL 

9. 
I talk not of mercy, I talk not of fear; 
He neither must know who would serve the 

Vizier: [ne'er saw 

Since the days of our prophet the Crescent 
A chief ever glorious hke All Pashaw. 

10. 
Oark Muchtar his son to the Danube is sped, 
Let the yellow-hair'461 Giaours 6^ view his 

horse-tail 63 with dread [the banks, 

When his Delhis^^ come dashing in blood o'er 
How few shall escape from the Muscovite 

ranks' 

11. 

lelictar 6.'> ! unsheathe then our chiefs scimitar: 
Tambourgi I thy larum gives promise of war. 
Ve mountains, that see us descend to the shore. 
Shall view us as victors, or view us no more ! 

LXXIII. 

Fair Greece ! sad relic of depaited worth ! 
Immortal, though no more ; though fallen, 

great ! 
Who now shall lead thyscatter'd children forth, 
And long accustom'd bondage uncreate ? 
Not such thy sons who whilome did await. 
The hopeless wannors of a willing doom. 
In bleak Thermopylae's sepulchral strait — 
Oh ! who that gallant spirit shall resume, 
Leap from Emotas' banks, and call thee 

from the tomb ? 



Spirit of Freedom ! when on Phyle's brow66 
Thou sat'st with Thrasybulus and his train, 
Couldst thou forbode the dismal hour which 

now 
Dims the green beauties of thine Attic plain ? 
Not tJjirtv tyrants now eaforce tbe chain, 



But every carle can lord it o" ;r thy land ; 
Nor rise thy sons, but idly rail in "vain. 
Trembling beneath the scourge of Turkish 
hand, [deed, unmann'd. 

From birth till death enslaved ; in word, in 



In all save form alone, how changed I and wh 
That marks the fire still sparkling in each eye 
Who but would deem their dosouis buru'd 

anew 
With thy unquenched beam, .ost Liberty I 
And many dream withal the hour is nigh 
That gives them back their fathers' heritage. 
For foreign arms and aid they fondly sigh, 
Nor solely dare encounter hostile rage, 

Or tear their name defiled from Slavery '■ 
mournful page. 

I.XXVI. 

Horeditaiy bondsmen ! know ye not 

Who would be free themselves must strike thf 

blow ? [wrought.' 

By their right anns the conquest must b» 
Will Gaul or Muscovite redress ye? no I 
True, they may lay your proud despoilers low 
But not for you will Freedom's altars flame. 
Shades of the Helots ! triumph o'er yoiu" foe 
Greece I change thy lords, thy stale is stii 

the same; [of shame 

Thy glorious day is o'er, but not thine yea* 



The city won for Allah from the Giaour, 
The Giaour from Olhman's race again m* 

wrest ; 
And the Serai's impenetrable tower 
Receive the fiery Frank, her fonner guest ;6' 
Or Wahab's rebel brood, who dared divest 
The prophet'sSS tomb of all its jiious spoil, 
May wind their path of blood along the West; 
But ne'er will freedom seek this fated soil, 
But slave succeed to slave thiough yeai's at 

endless toil. 

LXXVIIl, 

Yet mark their miith — ere lenten days begin 
That penance which their holy rites prepare 
To shrive from man his weight of mortal sin, 
By daily abstinence and nightly prayer ; 
But ere his sackcloth garb Repentance weat 
Some days of joyaunce are decreed to all, 
To take of pleasaunce each his secret share. 
In motley robe to dance at masking ball. 
And join the mimic train ofmerry Carniwal ■ 



300 



CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 



LXXIX. 

A.nd whose more rife with merriment than 

thine. 
Oh Stamboul! once the empress of their reign? 
Though turbans now pollute Sophia's shrine. 
And Greece her very altars eyes in vain : 
Alas ! her woes will still pervade my strain I) 
ay were her minstrels once, for J'ree her 
f throng, 

All felt the common joy they now must feign, 
Nor oft I ve seen such sight, nor heard such 
song, [along. 

As woc'd the eye, and thrill'dtheBosphorus 

LXXX. 

Loud was the lightsome tumult on the shore, 
Oft Music changed, but never ceased her tone, 
And timely echo'd back the measured oar. 
And rippling waters made a pleasant moan : 
The Queen of tides on high consenting shone, 
And when a transient breeze swept o'er the 

wave, 
T was, as if daiting from her heavenly throne, 
A brighter glance her form reflected gave, 
Till sparkling billows seem'd to light the 
banks they lave. 

LXXXI. 

Glanced many a light caique along the foam, 
Danced on the shore the daughters of the land, 
Ne thought had man or maid of rest or home. 
While many a languid tye and thrilling hand 
Exchanged the look few bosoms may withstand, 
t)r gently prest, return 'd the pressure still: 
Dh Love I yoimg Love I bound in thy rosy 

band, 
Let sage or cynic prattle as he will, 
These hours, and only these, redeem Life's 
years of ill ! 

LXXXII. 

But, midst the throng in merry masquerade, 
Lurk there no hearts that throb with secret pain. 
Even through the closest seaiment half be- 

tray'd ? 
To such the gentle mumiurs of the main 
Seem to re-echo all they mourn in vain; 
To such the gladness of the gamesome crowd 
Is source of wayward thought and stem dis- 
dain: 
How do they loathe the laughter idly loud, 
And long to change the robe of revel for the 
shroud ! 

LXXXIII. 

This must he feel, the true-bom son of Greece, 
If Greece one true-born patriot still can boast: 
Not such as prate of war, but skulk in peace, 
The bondsmaii's peace, who sighs for all 'le 
lost. 



Yet with smooth smile his tjrrant can accost 

And wield the slavish sickle, not the sword: 

Ah 1 Greece ! they love thee least who ow* 

thee most ; [ccr;* 

Their birth, their blood, and that sublijne to 

Of hero sires, who shame thy now digs- 

nerate horde ! 

LXXXIV. 

When riseth Lacediemon's hardihood. 
When Thebes Epaminondas rears again. 
When Athens' children are with hearts endued 
When Grecian mothers shall give birth to men 
Then may'st thou be restored ; but not till then 
A thousand years scarce serve to form a state-, 
An hour may lay it in the dust: and when 
Can man its shatter'd splendour renovate. 
Recall its virtues back, and vanquish Tinw 
and Fate? 



And yet how lovely in thine age of woe. 
Land of lost gods and godlike men ! art thou 
Thy vales oC evergreen, thy hills of snow,69 
Proclaim thee Nature's varied favourite now; 
Thy fanes, thy temples to thy surface bow 
Commingling slowly with heroic earth. 
Broke by the share of every rustic plough : 
So perish monuments of mortal birth, 

So perish all in turn, save well-recorded 
Worth ; 

LXXXVI. 

Save where some solitary column mourns 
Above its pi-ostrate brethren of the cave ;*'' 
Save where Tritonia's airy shrine adorns 
Colonna's clitf, and gleams along the wave ; 
Save o'er some warriors half-forgotten grave. 
Where the gray stones and unn}olested grass 
Ages, but not oblivion, feebly brave, 
While strangers only not regardless pass, 
Lingering like me, perchance, to gaze, and 
sigh "Alas!" 

LXXXVII. 

Yet are thy skies as blue, thy crags as wild ; 
Sweet are thy groves, and verdant are thy 

fields, 
Thine olive ripe as when Minerva smiled. 
And still his honied wealth Hymetlus yields j 
There the blithe bee his fragi-ant fortressbuilds 
The freebom wanderer of thy mountain-air j 
Apollo still thy long, long summer gilds, '- 

Still in his beam Mendeli's mar'oles glare ; 
Art, Glory, Freedom fail, but Nature slill i 
fair 



CHILDE HAROLDS PILGRIMAGE. 



301 



^'bcieer we tread 't is Launted, holy ground; 
No taiih of thine is lost in vulgar mould, 
But one Tasl realm of wonder spreads around, 
Ani lU the Muse's tales seem truly told, 
Till the sense aches with gazing to behold 
The scenes our earliest dreams have dwelt upon : 
Each hill and dale, each deepening glen and 

wold [gone ; 

Defies the power which crush 'd thy temples 

•\ge shakes Athena s tower, but spaies gray 

Marathon. 

LXXXIX. 

The sun, the soil, but not the slave, the same; 
Unchanged in all except its foreign lord — 
Preserves alike its bounds and boundless fame 
The Battle-field, where Persia's victim horde 
first bow'd beneath the brunt of Hellas' sword, 
As on the morn to distant Glory dear, 
When Marathon became a magic word ; 
Which utter'd, to the hearer's eye appear 
The camp, the host, the tight, the cont^uerors 
career, 

xe. 

The flying Mede, his shaftless broken bow; 
The fittvy Greek, his red pursuing spear; 
Mountains above, Earth's, Ocean's plain below; 
Death in the front, Destruction in the rear! 
Such was the scene — whatnowremainethhere? 
What sacred trophy marks the hallow'd ground, 
Uecording Freedom's smile and Asia's tear? 
The lifled um, the violated mound. 
The dust thy courser's hoof, rude stranger ! 
spurns around. 



Vet to the remnants of thy splendour past 
Shall pilgiims, pensive, but unwearied, throng; 
J.oug shall the voyager, with th" Ionian blast, 
Hail the bright clime of batlie and of song ; 
Long shall thine annals and immortal tongue 
Fill witli thy fame the youth of many a shore ; 
Boast of the aged ! lesson of the young ! 
Which sages venerate and bards adore, 
As Pallas and the Muse unveil their awful 
lore. 

XCII. 

The parted bosom clings tJ wonted borne, 
]f aught that's kindred cheer the welcome 

hearth ; 
Jle that is lonely, hither let him roam. 
And gaze complacent on congenial earth. 
Greece is no lightsome land of social mirth ; 



But he whom Sadness soothcth may abide, 
And scarce regret the region of his birth, 
When wandei-ing slow by Delpni s saoed side. 
Or gazing o'er the plains where Greek suiA 
Persian died. 

rem. 
Let such approach this consecrated land, 
And pass in peace along the magic waste* 
But spare its relics — let no busy hand 
Deface the scenes, already how delaced ! 
Not ibr such purpose were these altars placed 
JHevere the remnants nations once revered ; 
So may our country's name be undisgraced 
So ciay'st thou prosper where thy youth wa« 
rear'd, 
Byeveryhontstjoy of love and life endear'd! 



For thee, who thus in too proU-acted song 
Hast soothed thine idlesse with inglorious lays, 
Soon shall thy voice be lost amid the throng 
Of louder minstrels in these later days : 
To such resign the striie for fading bays — 
111 may such contest now the spirit move 
Which heeds nor keen reproach nor parl'iit 

praise ; 
Since cold each kinder heart that might approve 
And none are lelt to please when none a|i 

left to love. 

xcv. 
Thou too art gone, thou loved and lovely one 
Whom youth and youth's affections bound t« 

me; 
Who did for me what none beside have don^ 
Nor shrank from one albeit unworthy thee. 
What is my being? thou hast ceased to be I 
Nor staid to welcome here thy wanderer home 
Who mourns o'er hours which we no mere 

shall see — 
Would they had never been, or were to come 
Would he had ne'er return'd to find fresi 

cause to roam ! 

xcvi. 
Oh ! ever loving, lovely, and beloved ! 
How selfish Sorrow ponders on the past. 
And clings to thoughts now better far removed l 
But Time shall tear thy shadow from me last. 
All thou couldst have of mine, stem Death I 

thou hast; [friend: 

The parent, friend, and now the more than 

Ne'er yet for one thine arrows flew so fast, 

And giief with grief continuing still to blend, 

Hath snatch 'd the little joy lliat life had ^ 

to lend. 



302 



CHILDE HAROLDS PILGRIMAGE. 



XCTII. 

Ther must 1 plunge again into the crowd, 
And ibllow all that Peace disdains to seek ? 
Where Revel calls, and Laughter, vainly loud, 
False to the heart, distorts the hollow cheek, 
To leave the flagging spirit doubly weak ; 
Still o'er the I'ealures, which perforce they cheer 
To feign the pleasure or conceal the pique ; 
miles form the channel of a future tear, 
Or raise the writhing lip with ill-dissembled 
sneer. 



What is the worst of woes that wait on age ? 
What stamps the wrinkle deeper on the brow? 
To view each loved one blotted from life's page, 
A.nd be alone on earth, as I am now. 
Before the Chastener humbly let me bow, 
ft'er hearts divided and o'er hopes destroy'd:. 
^oll on, vain days ! full reckless may ye flow, 
iihce Time hath reft whate'er my soul enjoy d, 
And with the ills of Eld mine eaiiier years 
alloy' d. 



ar]&aUe l^arolb^s pilgrimage. 



And the rent canvass flutter .ng strew iie gal« 
Still must I on ; for I am as a weed. 
Flung from the rock, on Ocean's foam, to sai 
Where'er the surge may sweep, the -empesi , 
breath prevail. 



In my youth's summer I did sing of One, 
The wandering outlaw of his own dark mind 
Again I seize the theme, then but begun, 
And bear it with me, as the rushing wind 
Bears the cloud onwards : in that Tale I find 
The furrows of long thought, and dried-up tears. 
Which, ebbing, leave a sterile track behind. 
O'er which aJl heavily the journeying years 
Plod the last sands of life, — where not a 
flower appears. 



Since my young days of passion — joy, or pain 
Perchance my heart and harp have lost a string 
And both may jar: it may be, that in vain 
I would essay as I have sung to sing. 
Vet. thougli a dreary strain, to this I cling, r^^ 
So that it wean me from the weary dreara 
Of selfish gi'ief or gladness — so it fling 
Forgetfulness around me — it shall seem 
To me, though to none else, a not ungratefiji 
theme. 



CANTO THE THUtD. 



fs thy face like thy mother's, my fair child ' 
Ada ! sole daughter of my house and heart? 
When last I saw thy young blue eyes they 

smiled. 
And then we parted, — not as now we part, 
but with a hope. — 

Awaking with a stait, 
The waters heave around me ; and on high 
The winds lift up their voices : I depart. 
Whither I know not ; but the hour's gone by, 
W^hen Albion's lessening shores could grieve 
r glad mine eye. 



Once more upon the waters ! yet once more ! 
And the waves bound beneath me as a steed 
That knows his rider. Welcome to their roar ! 
Swift be their guidance, whercsoe'er it lead I 
Though the strained mast should quiver as a 
reed. 



He, who grown aged in this world of woe. 
In deeds, not years, piercing the depths of life, 
go that no wonder waits him ; nor below 
C.-'n love, or sorrow, fame, ambition, strife. 
Cut to his heart again with the keen knife 
Of t,ilent, sharp endurance : he can tell 
Why thought seeks refuge in lone caves, yet 

rife 
With airy images, and shapes which dwell 
Still unimpair'd, though old, in the soul'n 

haunted cell. 



'Tis to create, and in creating live 
A being more intense, that we endow 
With foi-m our fancy, gaining as we give 
The life we image, even as I do now. 
What am I? Nothing: but not so art thou. 
Soul of my thought! with whom I traverse 

earth, 
Invisible but gazing, as T glow 
Mix'd with thy spirit, blended with thy birth, 
And feeling still with thee in my crush'^ 
feelings' deaith 



CHILDE HiiROLDS PILGRIMAGE. 



303 



yet must I think less wildly : — I have thought 
Top long and darkly, till my brain became, 
Ir. its own eddy boiling and o'erwroiight, 
A whirling gull' of phantasy and flame: 
And thus, untaught in youth my heart to tame, 
My springs of lite were poison'd. 'T is too late ! 
Yet am I changed; though still enough the 

same 
In strength to bear what tim^ can not abate. 
And feed on bitter fnxits without accusing 

Fate. 

viri. 
Something too much of this: — but now 'tis 

past, 
And the spei^ closes with its silent seal, 
.-ong absent Haeold re-appears at last; 
fce of the breast which fain no more would feel, 
fTrung with the wounds which kill not, but 

ne'er heal ; 
let Time, who changes all, had alter'd him 
n soul and aspect as in age : years steal 
7ire from the mind as vigour from the limb; 
And lite's enchanted cup but sparkles near 

the brim. 

IX. 

His had been quaffd too quickly, and he foimd 
The dregs were wonnwood ; but he fiU'd again, 
And from a purer fount, on holier ground, 
And deem'd its spring pei-petual ; but in vain ! 
Still round him clung invisibly a chain 
'Wliich gall'd for ever, fettering though unseen, 
And heavy though it clank'd not; worn with 

pain, [keen, 

VNTiich pined although it spoke not, and gi-ew 

Entering \\ith every step he took through 

many a scene. 

X. 

Secure in guarded coldness, he had mix'd 
Again in fancied safety with his kind. 
And deem'd his spirit now so firmly fix'd 
And sheath'd with an invulnerable mind. 
That, if no joy, no sorrow lurk'd behind ; 
A id he, as one, might midst the many stand 
Unheedtd, searching through the crowd to find 
Fit speculation; such as in strange land 
He found in wonder-works of God and 
Nature's hand. 



■Who can contemplate Fame through clouds 

unfold 
The star which rises o'er her steep, nor climb? 
Harold, once more within the vortex, roll'd 
On with the giddy circle, chasing Time, 
Yet with a nobler aim than in his youth's 
fond prime. 



But soon he knew himself the most unfit 
Of men to herd with Man ; with whom he held 
Little in common ; untaught to submit 
His thoughts to others, though his soul was 
quell'd, [pell'd 

In youth by his o^\^l thoughts ; still uncom- 
He would not yield dominion of his mind 
To spirits against whom his own rebell'd ; 
Proud though in desolation ; which could find 
A life within itself, to breathe without man- 
kind. 

XIII. 

Where rose the mountains, thei'e to him were 

friends ; 
T^Tiere roU'd the ocean, thereon was his home ; 
Where a blue sky, and glowing clime, extends, 
He had the passion and the power to roam ; 
The desert, forest, cavern, breaker's foam, 
Were unto him companionship ; they spake 
A mutual language, clearer than the tome 
Of his land's tongue, which he would oft fois 
sake [the lake. 

For Nature's pages glass'd by smibeams ca 



L.ike the Chaldean, he could watch the stars, 
fill he had peopled them with beings bright 
As their own beams; and earth, and eai-tb 

bom jars. 
And human frailties, were forgotten quite : 
Could he have kept his spirit to that flight 
He had been happy ; but this clay will sink 
Its spark immortal, envying it the light 
To which it mounts, as if to break the link 
That keeps us from yon heaven which wooi 
us to its brink. 



But whc cat view the ripen'd rose, nor seek 

To weai it ? who can ctniously behold 

fhe smoothness and the sheen of beauty's 

cheek. 
Nor feel the aeail can never all grow old ? 



But in Man's dwellings he became a thing 
Restless and worn, and stern and wearisome, 
Droop'd as a wild-born falcon with dipt wing, 
To whom the boundless air alone were home 
Then came his fit again, which to o'ercome. 
As eagerly the barr'd-up bird will beat 
His breast and beak against his wiry dome 
Till the blood tinge his pitnnage, so tlie heat 
Of his impeded soul would throi^gh his b« 
som eat. 



304 



CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 



Self exiled HaroW wanders foith again, 
With r aught of hope left, but with less of 

gloom ; 
The very knowledge that he lived in vain, 
That all was over on this, side the tomb, 
Had made Despair a smilin^ncas assume. 
Which, though 't were wild, — as on the plun- 

der'd wreck 

When mariners would madly meet their doom 

With draughts intemperate on the sinking 

. deck,— [to check. 

Did yet inspire a cheer, which he forebore 

XVII. 

Stop! — for thy tread is on an Empire's dust! 
An Earthquake's spoil is sepulchred below! 
Is the spot mark'd with no colossal bust? 
Nor column tropbied for triumphal show? 
Kone; but the moral's trutli tells simpler so, 
As the ground was before, thus let it be ; — 
How that red rain hath made the harvest 

gi-ow ! 
^nd is this all the world has gain'd by thee, 
Thou fii-st and last of fields I king-making 
Victory ? 

XVIII. 

And Harold stands upon this place of skulls, 
The gi-ave of France, the deadly Waterloo! 
How in an hoiu" the power which gave annuls 
Its gifts, transferring fame as fleeting too ! 
In " pride of place"*! here last the eagle flew, 
Then tore with bloody talon the rent plain. 
Pierced by the shaft of banded nations tlirough; 
Ambition's life and labours all were vain; 
He wears the shatter'd links of the world's 
broken chain. 



Fit retribution ! Gaul may champ the bit 
And foam in fetters; — but is Earth more free? 
Did nations combat to make 0?je submit ; 
Or league to teach all kings true sovereignty? 
What! shall reviving Thraldom again be 
The patch'd up idol of enlighten'd days ? 
Shall we, who struck the Lion do'RTi, shall we 
Pay the Wo.f .lomage ^ profiering lowly gaze 
And servile knees to thrones "'* No ; prove 
before ye praise ! 



If not, o'er one fallen d'-^pot boast no more ! 
In vain fair cheeks were fuiTow'd with hot 

tears 
For Europe's flowers long rooted up before 
The trampler of her vineyards ; in vain years 



Of death, depopulation, bondage, fears, 
Have all been borne, and broken by the eccw^. 
Of roused-up millions : all that must endeare 
Glory, is when the myrtle wreathes a sword 
Such as Harmodius'2 drew on AiJiews ty- 
rant lord. 

XXI. 

There was a sound of revelry by night. 
And Belgium's capital had gather'd then 
Her Beauty an^ her Chivaky, and bright 
The lamps shone o'er fair women antl brave 

men ; 
A thousand hearts beat happily ; and when 
Music arose with its voluptuous swell, 
Soft eyes look'd love to eyes w hich spake again, 
And all went merry as a mamage-ljell ;"3 ' 
But hush ! hark ! a deep sound strikes like 

a rising knell ! 

XXII. 

Did ye not hear it ? — No ; 't was but the wind. 
Or the car rattling o'er the stony street ; 
On with the dance ! let joy be unconfined ; 
No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasui'e 

meet 
To chase the glowingHours with flying feet — 
But, hark ! — that heavy sound breaks in one* 

more. 
As if the clouds its echo would repeat ; 
And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before! 
Arm ! aim ! it is — it is — the cannon's ope» 

ing roar ! 

XXIII. 

Within a window'd niche of that high hall 

Sate Bnuiswick's fated chieftain; he did hefli 

That sound the first amidst the festival. 

And caught its tone with Death's prophetic 

ear ; [near, 

And when they smiled because he deem'd it 

His heart more truly knew that peal too well 

Which stretch'd his father on a bloody bier,'^ 

And roused the vengeance blood alone could 

quell : [fighting, fell. 

He rush'd into the field, and, foremost 

XXIV. 

Ah ! then and there Avas hurrying to and fro, 
And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, 
And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago 
Blush'd at the jiraise of tlieir own loveliness ; 
And there were sudden partings, such as press 
The life from out young hearts, and choking 

sighs Lg"P'S» • 

Which ne'er might be repeated; who could 
If ever more should meet those mutual eyes. 
Since upon night so sweet sucn awmimoiB 

could rise ! 



CKILDE HAROLD'S PILGRBIAGE. 



305 



And there was mounting in hot haste: the 
steed, [car, 

The mustering squadron, and the clattering 
Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, 
And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; 
And the deep liiunder peal on peal afar; 
And near, the beat of the alarming drum 
Ri.used up the soldier ere the morning star ; 
VVhile throng'd the citizens with terror dumb, 
Or whispering, with white lips — -" The foe ! 
They cornel they come !" 



Their praise is hymn'd by loftier harps than 

mine ; 
Yet one I would select ^rom that proud throng 
Partly because they blend me with his line, 
And partly that I did his sire some wrong. 
And partly that bright names will hallow song, 
And his was of the bravest, and when shower'tl 
The death-bolts deadliest the thinn"d dies along 
Even where the thickest of war's tempeaJ 

lower'd. 
They reach'd no nobler breast than thint 

young gallant Howard ! 



^nd wild and high the " Cameron's gathering" 

rose ' 
The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills 
Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon 

foes : — 
How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills, 
Savage and shrill ! But with the breath which 

fills 
Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers 
With the fierce native daring which instils 
The stirring memory of a thousand years, 
And Evan's, Donald's 75 fame rings in each 

clansman's ears I 



Aud Ardennes'6 wares above them her greeo 

leaves, 
Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass. 
Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, 
Over the unreturning brave, — alas ! 
Ere evening to be trodden like the grass 
Which now l>eneatii them, but above shall grow 
In its next vc-r.lure, when this fiery mass 
Of living valnur. rolling on the foe, 
Aud burning with high hope, shall moulder 

cold aud low. 



Last noon beheld them full of lusty life. 
Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay. 
The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife. 
The mom the marshalling in ai-ms, — the day 
Battle's magnificently-stern array ! 
The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when 

rent 
The earth is cover'd thick with other clay, 
VSTiich her own clay shall cover, heap'd and 

pent, 
Rider and horse, — friend, foe, — in one red 

burial blent J 



There have been teais and breaking hearts foi 

thee, 
And mine were nothing, had I such to give , 
But when I sttJod beneath the fi-esh green tre--! 
Which living waves where thou didst cease t- 

live. 
And saw around me the vnde field revive 
With fruits and fertile promise, and the Spring 
Come forth her work of gladness to contrive. 
With all her reckless birds upon the wing, 
I tum'd from all she brought to those shi 

could not bring.*" 



I tura'd to thee, to thousands, of whom each 
And one as all a ghastly gap did make 
In his own kind and kindred, whom to teacb 
Forgetfulness were mercy for their sake ; 
The Archangel's trump, not Glory's, must 

awake [of Fame 

Those whom they thirst for ; though the sound 
May for a moment soothe, it cannot slake 
The fever of vain longing, and the name 
So honour'd but assumes a stronger, bitterer 

claim. 

XXXII. 

They moum. but smile at length : and, smiling, 

mourn : 
The tree will wither long before it fall : 
The hull drives on, though mast and sail be 

torn ; 
The roof-tree sinks, but moulders on the hall 
In massy hoariness; the ruiu'd wall 
Stands when its wind-worn battlements are 

gone ; 
The bars survive the captive they enthral ; 
The day drags through though storms keep oiU 

the sun ; 
And thus the heart will break, y«t brokenlj 

live on : 

^ 21 



306 



CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 



XXXIII. 

Even as a broken mirror, which the glass 
In every fragment multiplies ; and makes 
A thousand images of one that was, 
The same, and still the more, the more it bi-eaks ; 
And thus the heart will io which not forsakes, 
i,iviug in shatter'd guise, and still, and cold, 
nd bloodless, with its sleepless son-ow aches, 
et withers on till all without is old. 
Showing no visible sign, for such things are 
untold. 

XXXIV. 

Thjrt is a very life in our despair, 
Titality of poison, — a quick ro#t 
f^hich feeds these deadly branches ; for it were 
.\s nothing did we die ; but Life will suit 
Itself to Sorrow's most detested fruit, 
iike to the apples'8 on tha Dead Sea's shore, 
A.11 ashes to the taste : Did man compute 
lixistence by enjoyment, and count o'er 
Such hours 'gainst years of Ufe, — sav 'vould 
he name threescore? 



The Pscdmist number'd out the years of man . 
They are enough ; and if thy tale be true, 
Thou, who didst grudge him even that fleeting 

span, 
More than enough, thou fatal Waterloo ! 
Millions of tongues record thee, and anew 
Their children's lipsshall echo them, and say — 
' Here, where the sword united nations drew, 
Our countrymen were waiTing on that day! " 
And this' is much, and all which will not 
pass away. 



The flatterer of thy fierceness, till thou w«t- 
A god unto thyself; nor less the same 
To the astounded kingdoms all inert. 

Who deem'd thee for a time whate'er tho* 

didst assert. 



Oh, more or less than man — in high or low, 
Batfl'Dg with nations, flying from the field ; 
Now making monarchs' necks thy footstooJ 

now 
Mr*-", than thy meanest soldier taught to yield 
An empire thou couldst crush, command, re 

build, 
Bi't govern not thy pettiest passion, nor. 
However deeply in men's spirits skill'd. 
Look through thine own, nor curb the lust of 

war, [loltiest star. 

For learn that tempted Fate will leave the 



Ye» well thy soul hath brook'd the turning tide 
With that untaught innate philosophy, 
Which, be it wisdom, coldness, or deep pride. 
Is gall and wormwood to an enemy. 
When the whole host of hatred stood hard by, 
To watch and mock thee shrinking, thou hast 

smiled 
With a sedate and all-enduring eye ; — 
When Fortune fled her spdil'd and favourite 

child, 
He stood unbow'd beneath the ills upon 

him piled. 



There sunk the greatest, nor the worst of men, 
Whose spirit antithetically mixt 
One moment of the mightiest, and again 
Ou little objects with like firmness fixt, 
ExU-emein all things! hadst thou been betwixt, 
Thy throne had still been thine, or never been ! 
For dai-ing made thy rise as fall ! thou seek'st 
Even now to re-assume the imperial mien. 
And shake again the vorld, the Thunderer 
of the scene ! 

xx.wn. 

Conqueror and captive of the earth art thou . 
She trembles at thee still, and thy wild name 
Was ne'er more bruited in men's minds than 

now 
That thou ait nothing, save the jest of Fame, 
Who woo'd thee once, i\i y vassal, and became 



Sager than in thy fortunes ; for in them 
Ambition steel'd thee on too far to show 
That just habitual scorn, which could contemn 
Men and their thoiights ; 't was wise to feel, 

not so 
To wear it ever on thy lip and brow, 
And spurn the instiTunents thou wert to u * 
Till they were turn'd unto thine overthro>» ; 
*T is but a worthless world to win or lose ; 
So hath it proved tc thee, and all such V«| 
who choose. 



If, like a tower upon a headlong rock, 
Thou hadst been made to stand or fall alone, 
Such scorn of man had help'd to brave iLm 
shook ; ['.}»/ throne, 

But men's thoughts wore tho r'o^ <? wh^^hpavi*.! 
2^heir admiration My best weapon shone : 



CHILDE HAROLDS PILGRIMAGE. 



307 



Toe part ot' Philip's son was thine, not then 
(Unless aside thy pui-ple had been thrown) 
Mke stern Diogenes to mock at men; 

For sceptred cynics earth were lar too wide 
a den. 

XLII. 

But quiet to quick bosoms is a hell, 
And there hath been thy bane ; there is a fire 
And motion of the soul whicli will not dwell 
In its own narrow being, but aspire 
Beyond the fitting medium of desire ; 
And, but once kindled, quenchless evennore, 
Preys upon high adventure, nor can tire 
Of aught but rest ; a fever at the core, 
Fatal to him who bears, to all who ever bore. 

XLIII. 

This makes the madmen who have made men 

mad 
By their contagion : Conquerors and Kings, 
Founders of sects and systems, to whom add 
Sophists, Bards, Statesmen, all unquiet things 
Which stir too strongly the soul's secret springs, 
Ind are themselves the fools to those they fool ; 
tnvied, yet how unenviable ! what stings 
Are theirs! One breast laid open were a school 
Which would unteach mankind the lust to 
shine or rule : 

XLIV. 

Their breath is agitation, and their life 
A. storm whereon they ride, to sink at last, 
&.nd yet so nursed and bigoted to strife, 
that should their days, surviving perils past, 
Melt to calm twilight, they feel overcast 
With sorrow and supineness, and so die ; 
Even as a flame unfed, which runs to waste 
With its own flickering, or a sword laid by, 
Which eats into itself, and nists ingloriously. 

XLV. 

He who ascends to mountain- tops, shall find 
The loftiest peaks most wrapt in clouds and 

snow ; 
He who surpasses or subdues mankind, 
Musi look down on the hate of those below. 
Though high ahove the sun of glory glow, 
And far beneath the earth and ocean spread, 
Round him are icy rocks, and loudly blow 
Contending tempests on his naked head, 
And thus reward the toils which to those 

summits led. 

XLVI. 

Away with these ! true Wisdom's world will be 
Within its own creation, or in thine, 
Maternal Nature ! for who teems like thee. 
Thus on the banks of thy majestic Rhine? 



There Harold gazes on a work divine, 

A blending of all beauties ; streams and del t» 

Fruit, foliage, crag, wood, cornfield, mountain 

vine. 
And chiefless castles breathing stem farcwelLi 
From gray but leafy wadls, where Ruin 

greenly dwells. 

XLVII. 

And there they stand, as stands a lofty mind. 
Worn, but unstooping to the baser crowd, 
All tenantless, save to the crannying wind. 
Or holding dark communion with the cloud. 
There was a day when they were young and 

proud, 
Banners on high, and battles pass'd below ; 
But they who fought are in a bloody shroud, 
And those which \k'aved ai'e shi-edless dust erf 

now, [futi re blow. 

And the bleak battlements shall bear nc 

XLVIII. 

Beneath these battlements, -w-ithin thoj e walls, 
Powerdweltamidstherpassions; in proud state 
Each robber chief upheld his armed halls, 
Doing his evil will, nor less elate 
Than mightier heroes of a longer date. 
What want these outlaws'^ conquerors shouls 

have? [great* 

But History's purchased page to call thei| 
A wider space, an on.iameY)ted gi-ave? 

Their hopes were not less warm, their soui 

were full as brave. 

XLIX, 

In their baronial feuds and single fields, 
WTiat deeds of prowess urrf corded died ! 
And Love, which lent a blazon to their shields 
With emblems well devised by amorous pride 
Through all the mail of iron hearts would glide 
But still their flame was fierceness, and drew (^ 
Keen contest and destruction near uUied, 
And many a tower for some fair mischief won 
Saw the discolour'd Rhine beneath its ruin 
run. 

L. 

But Thou, exulting and abounding river ! 
Making thy waves a blessing as they flow 
Through banks whose beauty would enduw 

for ever 
Could man but leave thy bright creation so, 
Nor its fair promise from the surface mow 
With the sharp scythe of conflict, — then to se% 
Thy valley of sweet waters, were to Know 
Earth paved like Heaven; and to seem such 
to me, [should Lethe be 

Even now what wants thy stieam? -thatii 
x2 



308 



CHILDE HAROLDS PILGRIMAGE. 



hi. 

A thousand battles have assail 'd thy 

But these and half their fame havepass'd away. 

And Slaughter heap'd on high his weltering 

ranks ; 
Their very gi'aves are gone, and ^\ hat are they ? 
Thy tide wash'd down the blood of yesterday. 
And all was siainless, and on ihy clear stream 
Glass'd with its dancing light the sunny ray; 
Buto'ertheblacken'd memory's blighting dream 
Thy waves would vainly roll, all sweeping 

as they seem. 

LII. 

Thus Harold inly said, and pass'd along, 
Yet not insensibly to all which here 
Awoke the jocund birds to early song 
In glens which might have made even exile 

dear : 
Though on his brow were graven lines austere, 
And tranquil sternness which had ta'en the place 
Of feelings fierier far but less severe, 
Joy was not always alxsent from his face, 
But o'er it in such scenes would steal with 

transient trace. 



Nor was all love shut from him, though his days 
Of passion had consumed themselves to dust. 
It is in vain that we would coldly gaze 
On such as smile upon us ; the heart must 
Leap kindly back to kindness, though disgust 
Hathwean'd it from all worldlings : thus he felt, 
For there was soft remembrance, and sweet trust 
Iij one fond breast, to which his own would melt, 
And in its tenderer hour on that his bosom 
dwelt. 



^ od he had leam'd to love, — I know not why, 
e'er thisin such as him seemsstrange of mood, — • 
The helpless looks of blooming infancy, 
'^U-f'v \u its earliest nurtm-e, what subdued, 
lo change like this, a mind so far imbued 
With scoi-n of man, it little boots to know ; 
yut thus it wa-s; and though in solitude 
Small power the nipp'd afi'ections have to gi-ow. 
In him this glow'd when all beside had 
ceased to glow. 



And there was one soft breast, as hath been said. 
Which ui;to his was bound by stronger ties 
Than the church links withal ; and, though 

unwed, 
That love was pure, and, far above disguise, 
Had stood the test of mortal enmities 



Still undivided, and cemented more 
By peril, dreaded most in female eyes ; 
But this was firm, and from a foreign shore 
Well to that heart might his these abseil 
greetings pour I 

1. 

The castled crag of Drachenfels^O 
Frowns o'er the wide and winding Rhine, 
Whose breast of waters broadly swells 
Between the banks which bear the vnie. 
And hills all rich with blossom'd trees, 
And fields which promise corn and wine. 
And scatter'd cities crowning these. 
Whose far white walls along them shine, 
Have strew'd a scene, which I should see 
With double joy wert ihou with me 

2 
And peasant girls, with deep blue eyes, 
And hands which ofi'er early flowers. 
Walk smiling o'er this paradise ; 
Above the frequent feudal towers 
Through green leaves lift their walls of graj" 
And many a rock which steeply lowere. 
And noble arch in proud decay. 
Look o'er this vale of vintage-bowers; 
But one thing want these banks of Rhine,-- 
Thv gentle hand to clasp in mine I 

3. 
I send the lilies given to me ; 
Though long before thy hand they touch, 
I know that they must wither'd be. 
But yet reject them not as such; 
For 1 have cherish'd them as dear. 
Because they yet may meet thine eye. 
And guide thy soul to mine even here, 
When thou behold'st them drooping nigh, 
And kno%v'st them gather'd by the RhinC; 
And oifer'd Irom my heart to thine ! 

4 
The river nobly foams and flows, 
The chai-m of this enchanted ground, 
And all its thousand turns disclose 
Some fresher beauty vaiying round : 
The haughtiest breast its wish might bound 
Through life to dwell delighted here ; 
Nor could on eaith a spot be fo.md 
To nature and to me so dear. 
Could thy dear eyes in following mine 
Still sweeten more these banks of Rhine s 

I.VI. 

By Coblentz, on a rise of gentle groimd. 
There is a small and simple pyramid, 
Crowning the summit of the verdant niound^ 
Beneath its base are laeroes' ashes hid 



OIIILDE HAROLDS PILGRIMAGE. 



309 



Cur enemy's, — but let uot that forbid 
Honour to Marceau ! o'er whose early totub 
Tears, big tears, gush'd from the rough soldier's 

lid, 
Lamenting and yat envying such a doom, 
Falling for France, whose rights he battled 

to resume. 

LVII. 

rief, brave, and glorious was his young 
career, — [foes ; 

His mourners were two hosts, his friends and 
And fitly may the stranger lingering here 
Pray for his gallant spirit's bright repose ; 
For he wa-s Freedom's champion, one of those. 
The few in number, who had not o'erstept 
The charter to chastise which she bestows 
On such as wield her weapons; he had kept 
The whiteness of his soul, and thus men 
o'er him wept.81 

LVIII. 

Here EhrenbreitsteinS^, with hershatter'd wall 
Black with the miner's blast, upon her height 
Fet shows of what she was, when shell and 

ball 
Rebounding idly on her strength did light : 
^ tower of victory ! from whence the flight 
Df baffled foes was watch'd along the plain : 
But Peace destroy'd what War could never 

blight, [rain — 

A^nd laid those proud roofs bare to Summer's 

On which the iron shower for years had 

pour'd in vain. 

LIX. 

Adieu to thee, fair Rhine ! How long delightcc 
The stranger fain would linger on his way ! 
Thine is a scene alike where souls united 
Or lonely Contemplation thus might stray ; 
And could the ceaseless vultures cease to prey 
On self-condemning bosoms, it were here, 
Where Nature, nor too sombre nor too gay, 
ild but not rude, awful yet not austere, 
Is to the mellow Earth as Autumn to the 
year. 

LX. 

Adieu to thee again ! a vain adieu I 

There can be no farewell to scene like thine, 

Thfj mind is colour'd by thy every hue ; 

And if reluctantly the eyes resign 

Their cherish'd gaze upon t'aee, lovely Rhine ! 

'T is with the thankful glance of parting praise ; 

More mighty spots may rise — more glaring 

shine, 
But none unite in one attaching maze 

The brilliant, fair, and soft, — the glories o. 

old days, 



The negligently grand, the fniitful b ooiu 
Of coming ripeness, the white city's sheen. 
The rolling stream, the precipice's gloom. 
The forest's growth, and Gothic walls between. 
The wild rocks shaped as they had turrets been 
In mockery of man's art ; and these withal 
A race of faces happy as the scene, 
Whose fertile bounties here ex^f'.nd to all. 
Still springing o'er thy banks, though Eu* 
pires near them fall. 



But these recede. Above me are the Alps, 
The palaces of Nature, whose vast walls 
Have pinnacled in clouds their snowy scalps. 
And throned Eternity in icy halls 
Of cold sublimity, where forms and falls 
The avalanche — the thunderbolt of snow • 
All that expands the spirit, jet appals, 
Gather around these summits, as to show 
How Earth may pierce to Heaven, yet leavt 
vain man below. 



But ere these matchless heights I dare to scan, 
There is a spot should not bepass'd in vain,— 
Morat ! the proud, the patriot field ! where 

man 
May gaze on ghastly trophies of the slain, 
Nor blush for those who conquer'd on tha* 

plain ; 
Here Burgundy bequeathed his tomblesa host 
A bony heap, through ages to remain, 
Themselves their monument; the Stygian coast 
Unsepulchred they roam'd, and shriek'd eack 

wandering ghost. 83 



While Waterloo with Cannse s carnage viea, 
Morat and Marathon twin names shall stand 
They were true Glory's stainless victories. 
Won by the unambitious heart and haiid 
Of a proud, brotherly, and civic band. 
All unbought champions in no princely cause 
Of vice-entail'd Corruption; they no Iwid 
Doom'd to bewail the blasphemy of laws 
Making kings' rights divine, by some Dva» 
conic clause 

LXV. 

By a lone wall a lonelier column rears 
A gray and grief-worn aspect of old days ; 
'T is the last remnant of the wreck of year^ 
And looks as witli the wild be-wiidcr'd gaa9 



CHILDE HAROLD S PILGRIMAGE. 



Of one to stone converted by amaze, 
Yet still consciousness ; and there it stands 
Making a marvel that it not decays, 
When the coeval pride of human hands, 
Levell'd Aventicum84, hath sti'ew'd her sub- 
-ect lands. 



Of our infection, till too late and long 
We may deplore and struggle with the coil, 
In wretched interchange of wrong for wTong 
'Midst a contentious world, striving where 
none are strong. 



LXVI. 

nd toere— oh ! sweet and sacred be the 

name ! — 
Julia — the daughter, the devoted — gave 
Eler youth to heaven; her heart, beneath a 

claim [grave. 

Nearest to Heaven's, broke o'er a father's 
justice is sworn 'gainst tears, and hers would 

crave 
The life she lived in ; but the judge was just, 
ind then she died on him she could not save. 
Their tomb was simple, and without a bust, 
And held within their urn one mind, one 

heart, one dust. 85 



Bui these are deeds which should not pass 
away, [earth 

4.nd names that must not wither, though the 
Forgets her empires with a just decay. 
The enslavers and the enslaved, their death 

and birth; 
The high, the mountain-majesty of worth 
Should be, and shall, survivor of its woe. 
And from its immortality look forth 
In the sun's face, like yonder Alpine snow,86 
Imperishably pure beyond all things below. 

LXVIII, 

Take Leman woos me with its crystal face. 
The mirror where the stars and mountain view 
Th*; stillness of their aspect in each trace 
' ts clear depth yields of their far height and 

hue : 
There is too much of man here, to look through 
With a fit mind the might wliich I behold ; 
But soon in me shall Loneliness renew 
Thoughts hid, but not less cherish'd than of 

old. 
Ere mingling with the herd hadpenn'dme in 

their fold. 



fo fly from, need not be to hate, mankind- 
<411 are not fit with them to stir and toil, 
i\or is it discontent to keep the mind 
t)eep in its fountain, lest it overboil 
In the hot throng, where we become the spoil 



There, in a moment, we may plunge our year 
In fata] penitence, and in the blight 
Of our own soul, turn all our blood to teara. 
And colour things tocome with hues of Night; 
The race of life becomes a hopeless flight 
To those that walk in darkness : on the sea. 
The boldest steer but where their ports invite, 
But there are wanderers o'er Eternity 

Whose bark drives on and on, and anchor'd 
ne'er shall be. 



Is it not better, then, to be alone, 
And love Earth only for its earthly sake ? 
By the blue rushing of the arrowy Rhone,^' 
Or the pure bosom of its nursing lake, 
Which feeds it as a mother who doth make 
A fair but froward infant her own care. 
Kissing its cries away as these awake ;— 
Is it not better thus our lives to wear. 

Than join the crushing crowd, doom'd h' 
inflict or bear ? 



I live not in myself, but I become 
Portion of that around me ; and to me 
High mountains are a feeling, but the himi 
Of human cities torture : I can see 
Nothing to loathe in nature, save to be 
A jink reluctant in a fleshly chain, 
Class'd among creatures, when the souJ cat 

flee. 
And with the sky, the peak, the heaving plaiB 
Of ocean, or the stars, mingle, and not in 
vain. 



And thus I am absorb'd, and this is life : 
I look upon the peopled desert past, 
As on a place of agony and strife, 
Where, for some sin, to Sorrow I was cast, 
To act and sufi'er, but remount at last 
With a IVesh pinion : which I feel to spring, 
Though young, yet waxing vigorous, as the 

blast 
Which it would cope with, on delighted wing. 
Spurning the clay cold bonds which roufid 

our being chng. 



CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 



311 



LXXIV. 

And when, at lengUi, the mind shall be all free 
From what it hates in this degratled form, 
Reft of its carnal life, save what shall be 
Existent happier in the tiy and worai, — 
When elements to elements conform, 
And dust 's as it should be, shall I not 
Feel all 1 see, less dazzling, but more wann ? 
The bodiless thought? the Spirit of each spot? 
Of which, even now, I shai-c at times the 
immortal lot? 

LXXV. 

Are not the mountains, waves, and skies, a 

part 
Of me and of my soul, as I of them ? 
Is not the love of these deep in my heart 
With a pure passion ? should I not contemn 
All obyjcts, if compared with these? and stem 
A tide of sud'ering, rather than forego 
Such feelings for the hard and worldly phlegm 
Df those whose eyes are only turn'd below, 
Gazing upon the ground, with thoughts 

which dare not glow ? 

' LXXV I. 

But this is not my theme ; and I return 
To t'lat which is immediate, and require 
Those who find contemplation in the urn, 
f o look on One, whose dust was once all fire, 
&. native of the land where I respire 
f he clear air for a while — a passing guest, 
Where he became a being, — whose desire 
Was to be glorious ; 't was a foolish quest. 
The which to gain and keep, he sacrificed 
air rest, 

LXXVII, 

Here the self-torturing sophist, wild llousseau» 
Che apostle of affliction, he who threw 
Enchantment over passion, and from woe 
Wrung overwhelming eloquence, first drew 
The breath which made him wretched ; yet 

he knew 
{low to make madness beautiful, and cast 
er erring deeds and thoughts a heavenly hue 
Of words, like sunbeams, dazzling as they past 
The eyes, which o'er them shed tears feel- 
ingly and fast. 



His love was passion's essence — as a tree 
On fire by liglitning; with ethereal flame 
Kindled he was, and blasted ; for to be 
I'hus, and enamour'd, were in him the same. 
But his wjis not the love of living dame. 



Nor of the dead who rise upon our dreams, 
But of ideal beauty, which became 
In him existence, and o'erliowing teems 
Along his burning page, distemper'd though 
it seems. 

LXXIX. 

This breathed itself to life in Julie, this 
Invested her with all that's wild and sweet; 
This hallow'd, too, the memorable kisses 
Which every morn his I'ever'd iip would greet. 
From hers, who but with friendship his would 

meet ; [breast 

But to that gentle touch, through brain and 

Flctsh'd the thrill'd spirit's love-devouring heat: 

In that absorbing sigh perchance more blest 

Than vulgar minds may be with all they 

seek possest. 

LXXX. 

His life was one long war with self-sought foei 
Or friends by him sclf-banish'd ; for his mind 
Had grown Suspicions sanctuary, and chose 
For its own cruel sacrifice the kind, 
'Gainst whom he raged with fury strange ani 

blind. [know- 

But he was phrensied, — wherefore, who mdj 
Since cause might be which skill could neva 

find; 
But he was phrensied by disease or woe 
To that worst pitch of all, which wears ' 

reasoning show. 

LXXXI. 

For then he was inspired, and from him camt 
As from the Pythian's mystic cave of yore. 
Those oracles which set the world in flame, 
Nor ceased to burn till kingdoms were no more 
Did he not this for France? which lay before 
Bow'd to the inborn tyranny of years ? 
Broken and trembling to the yoke she bore. 
Till by the voice of him and his compeers. 
Roused up to too much wrath, which followi 
o'ergrown feai's? 



They made themselves a fearful monument I 
The wreck of old opinions — thmgs which gi"ew. 
Breathed from the biith of time : the veil they 

rent. 
And what behind it lay, all earth shall view. 
But good with ill they also overthrew, 
Leaving but ruins, wherewith to rebuild 
Upon the same foundation, and renew 
Dimgeons and thrones, which the same houj 

re-fiU'd, [wiU'd. 

As heretofore, because ambition was self 



312 



CHILDE HAROLD S PILGRIMAGE. 



LXXXIII. 

But this will not endure, nor be endured ! 
Mankind have felt their sti-eiigth, and made it 

felt. 
They might have used it better, but, allured 
By their uevi^ vigour, sternly have they dealt 
On one another ; pity ceased to melt 
With her once natural charities. But they, 
Who in oppression's darkness caved had dwelt, 
They were not eagles, nourish'd with the day ; 
What marvel then, at times, if they mistook 
their prey ? 

LXXXIV. 

What deep wounds ever closed without a scar ? 
.The heart's bleed longest, and buthealtowear 
That which disfigures it ; and they who war 
With their own hopes, and have been van- 

quish'd, bear- 
Silence, but not submission : in his lair 
fix'd Passion holds his breath, until the hour 
'k'^hich shall atone lor yeai's; none need 



it came, it cometh, and will come, — the power 
To punish or forgive — in one we shall be 
slower. 

LXXXV. 

tlear, placid Leman ! thy contrasted lake, 
With the wild world I dwelt in, is a thing 
Wliich warns me, with its stillness, to lorsake 
Earth's troubled waters lor a purer spring. 
This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing 
To wait me Irom distraction ; once I loved 
Torn ocean's roar, but tliy sott murmuring 
Sounds sweet as if a Sister's voice reproved, 
That I with stern delights should e'er have 
been so moved. 

LXXXVl. 

It is the hush of night, and all between 
Thy margin and the mountains, dusk, yet clear, 
Me'llow'd and mingling, yet distinctly seen. 
Save darken'd Jura, whose capt heights appear 
Precipitously sleep ; and drawing near, 
There breathes a living fragrance from the 

shore, 
Of flowers yet fresh with childhood ; on the ear 
Drops the light drip of the suspended oar. 
Or chirps the grasshopper one good-night 

carol more ; 

LXXXVII. 

Jle is an evening reveller, who makes 
ri\s life an infancy, and sings his fill ; 
At intervals, some bird from out the brakes 
Starts into voice a moment, then is still. 
There seems a floating whisper on the hill 



But that is fancy, for the starlight dews 
All silently their tears of love instil. 
Weeping themselves away, till they infuse 
Deep into Natiue's breast the spirit of hei 
hues. 



Ye stars I which are the poetry of heaven 
If in yoiu- bright leaves we would read the fatt 
Of men and empires, — 'tis to be forgiven, 
I'faat in our aspirations to be great. 
Our destinies o"erleap their mortal state, 
And claim a kindred with you ; for ye are 
A beauty, and a mystery, and create 
In us such love and reverence from afar, 
That fortune, fame, power, life, have namec 
themselves a star. 

LXXXIX. 

All heaven and eaith are still — lliough not in 

sleep, 
But breathless, as we grow when feeling most i 
And silent, as M-e stand in thoughts too deep : — 
All heaven and earth are still : From the higc 

host 
Of stars, to the lull'd lake and mountain-coast, 
All is concenter'd in a life intense. 
Where not a beam, nor air, nor leaf is lost. 
But hath a part of being, and a sense 

Of that which is of all Creator and defence 

xc. 
Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt 
In solitude, where we are least alone ; 
A Uuth, which through oiu- being then doth 

melt, 
And piu'ifies from self: it is a tone. 
The soul and source of music, which makes 

known 
Eternal harmony, and sheds a charm, 
Like to the fabled Cytherea's zone. 
Binding all things with beauty; — 'twould 

disarm [to harm. 

The spectre Death, had he substantial power 



Not vainly did the early Persian make 
His altar the high places and the peak 
Of earth-o'ergazing mountains, and tlius take 
A fit and unwall'd temple, there to seek 
The Spirit, in whose honour shrines are weak, 
Uprear'd of human hands. Come, and com- 
pare 
Columns and idol-dwellings, Goth or Greek, 
With Nature's realms of worship, earth and air 
Nor fix on fond abodes to circumscribe th, 
pray'r ! 



CHILBE HAROLDS PILGRIMAGE. 



313 



The sky is changed! — and such a change ! Oh 
• night, [strong, 

And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous 
Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light 
Of a dark eye in woman I Far akmg, 
From peak to peak, the rattling crags among 
Leaps the live thunder I Not from one lone 

cloud, 
But every mountain now hath found a tongue, 
And Jura answers, through her misty shroud, 
Back to tne joyous Alps, who call to her 

aloud ! 



Sky, mountains, river, winds, lake,hghtnings' 
ye! [sou) 

With night, and clouds, and thunder, and 4 
To make tliese felt and feeling, well may be 
Things that have made me watchful; the far 

roU 
Of your departing voices, is the knoll 
Of what in me is sleepless, — if I rest. 
But where of ye, oh tempests! is the goal? 
Are ye like those within the human breast? 
Or do ye find, at length, like eagles, some 
high nest? 



And this is in the night: — Most glorious night! 

Fhou wert not sent for slumber ! let me be 
k. sharer in thy fierce and far delight, — 
^ portion of the tempest and of thee!^ 

^w the lit lake shines, a phosphoric sea, 

ind the big rain comes dancing to the earth ! 
ind now again 't is black, — and now, the glee 

^f the loud hills shakes with its raoim tain-mirth, 
As if they did rejoice o'er a young earth- 
quake's birth. 



Kow, wliere the swift Rhone cleaves his way 
between [parted 

Eeights which appear as lovers who have 
in hate, whose mining depths so intervene. 
That they can meet no more, though broken- 
hearted; [thwarted, 
Though in their souls, which thus each other 
Love was the very root of the fond rage 
Which blighted their life's bloom, and then 

departed : — 
Itself expired, but leaving them an age 
Of years all winters, — wai* within themselves 
to wage. 



Could I embody and unbosom now 
That which is most within me, — could I wreak 
My thoughts upon expression, and thus throw 
Soul, heart, mind, passions, feehngs, strong o» 

weak, 
A.11 that I would have sought, and all 1 seek, 
Bear, know, feel, and yet breathe — into one 

word, [speak ; 

And that one word were Lightning, I would 
But as it is, I live and die unheard 

With a most voiceless thought, sheathing it 

as a sword. 



The mom is up again, the dewy mom, 
With breath all incense, and with cheek aU 

bloom, 
Laughing the clouds away with playful scorn, 
And living as if earth contain'd no tomb, — 
And glowing into day : we may resume 
The march of our existence: and thus L 
Still on thy shores, fairLeman! may find room 
And food for meditation, nor pass by 

Much, that may give us pause, if ponder'd 

fittingly. 



ow', where the quick Rhone thus hath cleft 

his way. 
The mightiest of the storms hath ta'en his stand : 
For here, not one, but many, make their play. 
And flingtheir thunder-bolts from handtohand, 
Flashing and cast around: of all the band. 
The brightest through these parted hills hath 

fork'd 
His lightnings, — as if he did understand. 
That in such gaps as desolation work'd, 
There the hot shaft should blast whatever 

therein lurk'd. 



Clarens! sweet Clarens ! birthplace of deep 
Love ! [thought. 

Thine air is the young breath of passionate 
Thy trees take root in Love ; the snows above 
The very Glaciers have his colours caught, 
And sun-set into rose-hues sees them wrought 
By Kjys \('hich sleep there lovingly: the rocks, 
The pemianent crags, tell here of Love, who 

sought 
In them a refuge from the worldly shocks. 
Which stir and sting the scul m ith hop^ thai 
woos then mocks. 



314 



CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 



Clarens .' by heavenly feet thy paths are trod, — 
Undying Love's, who here ascends a throne 
To which the steps are mountains ; where the 

god 
Is a pervading life and light, — so shown 
Not on those summits solely, nor alone 
In the still cave and forest; o'er the flower 
His eye is sparkling, and his breath hath blown 
His soft and summer breath,whose tender power 
Passes the strength of stoiins in tlieir most 
desolate hour. 



All things arehereof him; from the blackpines, 
Which are his shade on high, and the loud roar 
Of torrents, where he listeneth, to the vines 
Which slope his green path downward to the 

shore, 
Where the bow'd waters meet him, and adore. 
Kissing his feet with murmurs; and the wood, 
The covert of old trees, with trunks all hoar, 
But light leaves, yOung as joy, stands where 
it stood, 
Offering to him, and his, a populous solitude, 

CII. 

ti. populous solitude of bees and birds, 
A-nd fairy-form'd and Tiiany-coloui"'d things, 
V\'ho worship him with notes more sweet than 

words, 
And innocently open their glad wings 
Fearless and full of life : the gush of springs, 
A.nd fail of lofty fountains, and the bend 
Of stirring branches, and the bud which brings 
The swiftest thought of beauty, here extend. 
Mingling, and made by Love, unto one 
mighty end, 

cm. 
He who hath loved not, here would learn that 

lore. 
And make his heart a spirit ; he who knows 
That tender mystery, will love the more, 
Forthis is Love'srecess, where vain men's woes. 
And the world's waste, have driven him far 

fr^m those. 
For 'tis his nature to advance or die : 
He stands not still, but or decays, or grows 
Into a boundless blessing, which may vie 
With the immortal lights, in its eternity ! 

CIV. 

Twas not for fiction chose Rousseau this spot. 
Peopling it with affections; but he found 
It was the scene which passion must allot 
To the mind's purified beings ; 't was the ground 
Whwk' early Love his Psyche's zone unbound. 



Ana nanow a it with loveliness : t is lono. 

And wonderful, and deep, and hath a sound. 

And sense, and sight of sweetness ; here tjlie 

Rhone [rear'd a throng 

Hath spread himself a couch, the Alps lia,v6 

;v. 

Lausanne ! and Femey ! ye have been th 

abodes 
Of names which unto you bequeath'd a name ; 
Mortals, who sought and found, by dangeroia 

roads, 
A path to perpetuity of fame : 
They were gigantic minds, and their steep ami 
Was, Titan-like, on daring doubts to pile 
Thoughts which should call down thunder, and 

the flame 
Of Heaven, again assail'd, if Heaven the while 
On man and man's research could deign do 

more than smile. 



The one was fire and fickleness, a child. 
Most mutable in wishes, but in mind 
A wit as various, — gay, grave, sage, or wild,—- 
Historian, bard, philosopher, combined ; 
He multiplied himself among mankind. 
The Proteus of their talents : But his own 
Breathed most in ridicule, — which, as thi 

wind. 
Blew where it listed, laying all things prone,^ 
Now to o'erthrow a fool, and now to shak> 

a throne. 

cvii. 
The other, deep and slow, exhausting thought 
And hiving wisdom with each studious year, 
In meditation dwelt, with learning wrought, 
And shaped his weapon with an edge severe. 
Sapping a solemn creed with solemn sneer ; 
The lord of irony, — that master-spell, 
Which stung his foes to wrath, which greir 

from fear. 
And doom'd him to the zealot's ready Hell, 
Which answers to all doubts so eloquentl 

well. 

CVIII. 

Yet, peace be with their ashes, — for by them. 
If merited, the penalty is paid ; 
It is not ours to judge, — far less condemn ; 
The hour must come when such things shiJi 

be made 
Known unto all, — or hope and dread allay'd 
By slumber, on one pillow, — in the dust. 
Which, thus much we are sure, must lie decay 'd ; 
And when it shall revive, as is our trust, 
T will be to be forgiven, or suffer what it 

just 



CHILDE HAROLD S PILGRIMAGE. 



315 



JBut. lei me quit man's works, again to read 
His Maker's, spread ai'ound me, and suspend 
•This page, which from my reveries I feea, 
Until it seems prolonging without end. 
The clouas above me to the white Alps tend, 
And I must pierce them, and survey whate'er 
May be permitted, as my steps I bend 
To their most great and growing region, where 
The earth to her embrace compels the powers 

ol' air. 

ex. 
Italia ! too, Italia ! looking on thee 
Full flashes on the soul the light of ages, 
bince the fierce Carthaginian almost won thee 
To tiie last halo of the chiefs and sages. 
Who glorify thy consecrated pages ;' 
Thou wert the throne and gi-ave of empires ; 

still, 
The fount at which the panting mind assuages 
Mer thirst of knowledge, quaffing there her fill. 
Flows from the eternal soui-ce of Rome's 

imperial hill. 

CXI. 

Hius far have I proceeded in a theme 
Renew'd with no kind auspices: — to ieel 
We are not what we have been, and to deem 
We are not what we should be, — and to steel 
The heait against itself; and to conceal, 
With a proud caution,love, or hate, or aught, — 
Passion or feeling, purpose, gi'ief, or zeal,— 
Which is the tyrant spirit of our thought, 
Is a stern task of soul: — No matter, — it is 
taught. 

cxii. 
And for these words, thus woven into song, 
Jt may be that they are a harmless wile, — 
The colouring of the scenes which fleet along. 
Which I would seize, in passing, to beguile 
My breast, or that of others, for a while. 
Fame is the thirst of youth, — but I am not 
So young as to regard men's frown or smile, 
As loss or guerdon of a glorious lot ; 

I stoed and stand alone, — remember'd or 

forgot 

CXJII. 

I have not loved the world, nor the world me ; 
I have not flatter'd its rank breath, nor bow'd 
To its idolatries a patient knee, — 
Nor coin'd my cheek to smiles, — nor cried aloud 
In worship of an echo; in the crowd 
They could not deem me one of such ; I stood 
Among them, but not o*' them ; in a shroud 
Of thoughts which were mt their thoughts, and 
still could, 

II id I not filed my mind, which thus itscL 

subdued 



I have not loved the world, nor the world me,— 
But let us pai't fair foes; I do believe, 
Though 1 have found them not, that there may 

be [not deceive. 

Words which are things, — hopes which will 
And virtues which are merciful, nor weave 
Snares for the failing: I would also deem 
O'er others' gi-iefs that some sincerely grievaS. 
That two, or one, are almost what they seem, — 
That goodness is no name, and happiness 

no dieam. 

cxv. 
My daughter ! with thy name this song begun— 
My daughter I with thy name thus much shaD 

end — 
I see thee not, — I hear thee not, — but none 
Can be so wrapt in thee ; thou art the friend 
To whom the shadows of far years extend- 
Albeit my brow thou never shouldst behold. 
My voice shall with thy future visions blen^ 
And reach into thy heart, — when mine is cold,-- 
A token and a tone, even from thy father'i 

'^^^^' CXVI. 

To aid thy mind's developement, — to watch 
Thy dawn of little joys, — to sit and see 
Almost thy very growth, — to view thee catch 
Knowledge of objects, — wonders yet to thee 
To hold thee lightly on a gentle knee. 
And print on thy soft cheek a parent's kiss,-« 
This, it should seem, was not reserved for me 
Yet this was in my nature : — as it is, 
I know not what is there, yet something lik« 

t° ^^«- CXVII. 

Yet,though dull Hate as duty should be taught 
I know that thou wilt love me ; though my name 
Sliould be shut from thee, as a spell still fraught 
With desolation, — and a broken claim : 
Though the grave closed between us, — 'twere 

the same, 
I know that thou wilt love me ; though to drain 
My blood from out thy being were an aim. 
And an attainment, — all would be in vain, — 
Still thou would'st love me, still tliat mot 

than lil'e retain 

CXVIII. 

The child of love, — though bom in bitterness, 
And nurtured in convulsion. Of thy sire 
These were the elements, — and thine no less. 
As yet such are around thee, — but thy fire 
Shall be more temper'd,and thy hope far higher. 
Sweet be thy cradled slumbers ! O'ei- the sea, 
Anc' I'rom t'ne mountains where I now respire. 
Fain would I waft such blessing upon thee. 
As, with a sigh, I deem thou might' st haT« 
been to me' 



Bon Suam 



" Difficile est propria communia dicere." — Hob. 

" rwi«t thou think, "because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more Cakes and Ale?— YeSi 
T Saint Anne, and Ginger shall be hot i' the mouth, too!''— Shakspeakb, Twelfth Night, or 
What You Will. 



DEDICATION.! 



T is poetry — at least by his assertion, 

And may appear so when the dog-star rages— 
And he who understands it would be able 
To add a story to the Tower of Babel. 



3oB Soothey! You 're a poet — Poet-laureate, 
And representative of all the race. 

Jklthough 'tis true that you turn'd out a Tory at 
Last, — yours has lately been a common 
case, — 

Xnd now, my Epic Renegade ! what are ye at. 
With all the Lakers, in and out of place? 

i nest of tuneful persons, to my eye 

i.ike "four and twenty Blackbirds in a pye ; 



" Which pye being open'd they began to sing 
(This old song and new simile holds good), 

" A dainty dish to set before the King," 

Or Regent, who admires such kind of food;— 

And Ci)leridge, too, has lately taken wing, 
But like a hawk encumber'd with his hood,— 

Explaining metaphysics to the nation — 

I wish he would explain his Explanation. 



You — Gentlemen ! by dint of long seclusion 
From better company, have kept your own 

At Keswick, and, through still continuedfusion 
Of one another's minds, at last have grown 

To deem as a most logical conclusion, 
That Poesy has wreaths for you alone : 

There is a narrowness in such a notion, 

"Which makes me wish you'd change youi 
lakes for ocean. 

VI. 

I would not imitate the petty thought, 
Nor coin my self-love to so base a vice. 

For all the glory your conversion brought. 
Since gold alone should not have been its 
price. [wrought? 

You have your salary; was't for that you 
And Wordsworth has his place in the Excise. 

You're shabby fellows — true — but poets still, 

And duly seated on the immortal hill. 



Vou, Bob ! are rather insolent, you know, 
At being disappointed in your wish 
o supersede all warblers here below, - 
And be the only Blackbird in the dish ; 
nd then you overstrain yourself, or so, 
And tumble downward like the flying fish 
Gasping on deck, because you soar too high 

Bob, 
And fall, for lack of moisture quite a-dry. Bob ' 



Your bays may hide the baldness of your 
brows — [go — 

Perhaps some viiluous blushes ; — let them 
To you 1 envy neither fruit nor buuglis — 

And for the fame you would engross below 
The field is universal, and allows 

Scope to all such as leel the inherent glow 
Scott, Rogers, Campbell, Moore, and Crabbe, 

will try 
'Gainst you iftie question with posterity. 



And Wordsworth, in a rather long "Excursiou " 
(I think the quarto holds five hundred pages). 

Has given a sample from the vasty version 
Of his new system to perplex the sages; 



For me, who, wanderingwithpedestrian Muses 
Contend not with you on the winged steed 

I wish your fate may yield ye, when she chooses, 
The fame you envy, and the skill you need' 



DON JUAN. 



317 



knd recollect a poet nothing loses 

In giving to his brethren their full meed 
Pf merit, and complaint of present days 
I» not the certain path to future praise. 



Nor even a sprightly blunder'" spark can blaz* 
From that Ixion grindst.t «'s ceaseless toil, 
That turns and turns to give ihe world a notioB 
Of endless torments and perpetual motion. 



le that reserves his laurels for posterity 
CWTio does not often claim the bright rever 
sion) 
Has generally no great crop to spare it, he 
Being only injured by his own assertion; 
And although here and there some glorious rarity 

Arise like Titan from the sea's immersion, 
The major part of such appellants gc 
To — God knows where — for no one else can 
know. 



A bungler even in its disgusting trade, 

And botching, patching, leaving still behind 

Something of which its masters are afraid. 
States to be curb'd, and thoughts to be con 
fined, 

Conspiracy or Congress to be made — 
Cobbling at manacles for all mankind — 

A tinkering slave-maker, whomends old chains 

With God and man's abhorrence for its gaiua 



If, fallen in evil days on evil tongues, 
Milton appeaVd to the Avenger, Time, 

If Time, the Avenger, execrates his wrongs, 
And makes the word "Miltonic" mean 
" sublime," 

He deign'd not to belie his soul in songs, 
Nor turn his veiy talent to a crime ; 

He did not loathe the Sire to laud the Son, 

Bat closed the tyrant-hater he begun, 



XI. 

Fhink'st thou, could he — the blind Old Man — 
arise [more 

Like Samuel from the grave, to freeze once 
The blood of monarchs with his prophecies, 

Or be alive again — again uU hoar 
With time and trials, and those helpless eyes. 

And heartless daughters—worn — aiidpale — 
and poor; 
Would he adore a sultan ? he obey 
The intellectual eunuch Castlereagh? 



Cold-blooded, smooth-faced, placid miscreant ! 

Dabbling its sleek young hands in Erin's gore, 
And thus for wider carnage taught to pant, 

Transferr'd to gorge upon a sister shore. 
The vulgarest tool that Tyranny could want. 

With just enough of talent, and no more. 
To lengthen fetters by another iix'd 
And offer poison long already mix u. 



If we may judge of mattei by the mind, 

Emasculated to the maiTow It 
Hath but two objects, how to serve, and bind 

Deeming the chain it wears even men may fit 
Eutropius of its many masters, — blind 

To worth as freedom, wisdom as to wit 
Fearless — because no feeling dwells in ice. 
Its very courage stagnates to a vice. 



Where shall I tuni me not to view its bond% 
For I will never feel them ; — Italy ! 

Thy late reviving Roman soul desponds 
Beneath the lie this State-thing breather 
o'er thee — [wound? 

Thy clanking chain, and Erin's yet greet 
if ave voices — tongues to cry aloud for me 

Europe has slaves — allies — kings — armies still 

And Southey lives to sing them very ill. 

XVII. 

Meantime — Sir Laureate — I proceed to dedi- 
cate. 

In honest simple verse, this song to you. 
And, if in flattering strains I do not predicate 

'T is that I still retain my " buflf and blue ; "* 
My politics as yet are all to educate : 

Apostasy 's so fashionable, too, [culcan; 
To keep one weed 's a task gi-own quite Her 
Is it not so, a,> Tory, ultxa-Juiian?3 

Vcni e, Sept. l6, 181», 



An orator of such set trash of phrase 

Ineffably — legitimately vile. 
That even its grossest flatterers dare not praise, 

N«r foes — all nations — comlescend to 
wnile. — 



US 



DON JUAN, 



Bon Sunn. 



CANTO THE FIRST. 



I WANT a hero: an uncommon want, 

When every year and month sends forth a 
new one, 

Till, after cloying the gazettes with cant, 
The age discovers he is not the true one ; 

Of such as these I should not care to vaunt,** 
I '11 therefore lake our ancient friend Don 
Juan — 

We all have seen him, in the pantomime, 

Sent to the devU somewhat ere his time. 

ir. 
Vernon^, the butcher Cumberland6, Wolfe', 

HawkeS, 
^rince Ferdinand^, Granhylo, Btirgoyne", 

Keppel'S^ Howe^3^ 
tlvil and good, have had their tithe of talk, 
And fill'd their sign-posts then, like Welles- 
ley now ; [stalk, 

Each in their turn, like Banquo's monarchs 
Followers of fame," nine farrow" of that sow: 
France, too, had Buonaparte and Dumourier 
Recorded in the Moniteiu* and Courier. 



Brave men wereliving before the Agamemnoa 

And since, exceeding valox'ous and sage, 
A good deal like him too, though quite the 
same none ; 

But then they shone not on the poet's page 
And so have been forgotten : — I condemn none, 

But can't find any in the present age 
Fit for my poem (ihat is, for my new one) ; 
So, as I said, I "U lake my friend Don Juan. 



Most epic poets plunge " in medias res " 
(Horace makes this the heroic turnpike road), 

And then your hero tells, whene'er you please. 
What went before — by way of episode, 

While seated after dinner at his ease, 

Beside his mistress in some soft abode, * 

Palace, or garden, paradise, or cavern, 

Which serves the happy couple for a tarem. 



That is the usual method, but not mine — 
My way is to begin with the beginning ; 

The regularity of my design 

Forbids all wandering as the worst of sin. 
ning. 

And therefore I shall open with a line 

(Although it cost me half an hour in sjna 
ning) 

Narrating somewhat of Don Juan's father, 

And also of his mother, if you "d rather. 



Bamave'4, Brissotl 5 Condorcetl^, Mirabeau'^, 
PetioniS, CiOotz'S, Danton20, Marat2l, La 
Fayette22, 

Were French, and famous people, as we know; 
And there were others, scarce forgotten yet, 

Joubert23, Hoche24, Marceau25, Lannes^e, 
Desaix2', Moreau,28 
With many of the military set. 

Exceedingly remarkable at times. 

But not at all adapted to my rhymes. 



i.n Seville was he born, a pleasant city. 

Famous for oranges and women — he29 
Who has not seen it will be much to pity. 

So says the proverb — and I quite agree; 
Of all the Spanish towns is none more pretty, 

Cadiz perhaps — but that you soon may 
see ; — 
Don Juan's parents lived beside the river, 
A noble stream, and call'd the Guadalquiva 



Nelson was once Britannia's god of war, 
And still should be so, butthetideis tum'd; 

There's no more to be said of Trafalgar, 
'T is with our hero quietly inum'd ; 

Because the aimy's grown more popular, 
At which the naval people are concem'd; 

Besides, the prince is all for the land- service. 

Forgetting Duncai., Nslson, Howe, and Jervis- 



His father's name was Jose — Don, of coarse, 

A true Hidalgo, free from every stain 
Of Moor or Hebrew blood, he traced his souro« 

Through themost Gothic gentlemen of Spain/ 
A better cavalier ne'er mounted horse, 

Or, being mounted, e'er got down again, 
Than Jose, who begot our hero, w«ho 
Begot — but tliat's to ;ome Well.torciwt 



DON JUAN. 



319 



His mother was a learned lady, famed 

For every bran"li ot' every science known — 

In every Christiar language ever named, 
Wi!ii virtues equall'd by her wit alone 

She made the cleverest people quite ashamed. 
And even the good with inward envy groan, 

Finding themselves so very much exceeded 

Jn their own way by all the things that she 
did. 

XI. 

Her memory was a mine : she knew by heart 
All Calderon and greater part of Lope, 

So that if any actor miss'd his part 

She could have served him for the prompter's 
copy ; 

For her Feinagle's were an useless art,30 
And he himself obliged to shut up shop — he 

Dould never make a memory so fine as 

That which adom'd the brain of Donna Inez. 



Her favourite science was the mathematical, 
Her noblest virtue was her magnanimity, 

Her wit(she sometimes tried at wit) wasA ttic all. 
Her serious sayings darken'd to sublimity; 

In short, in ail things she was faii'ly what I 
caU 
A prodigy — her morning dress was dimity, 

Her evening silk, or, in the summer, muslin. 

And other stuifs, w-ith Avhich I won't stay 
puzzling. 

XIII. 

She knew the Latin — that is, "the Lord's 
prayer," 
And Greek — the alphabet — I 'm nearly sure ; 
She read some French romances here and there, 
Although her mode of speaking was not pm-e ; 
For native Spanish she had no gi-eat care, 
At least her conversation was obscure ; 
Her thoughts were theorems, her words a pro. 
blem, ['em. 

s if she deem'd that mystery would ennoble 



She liked the English and the Hebrew tongue, 
And said there was analogy between 'em ; 

She proved it somehow out of sacred song, 
But I must leave the proofs to those who 've 
seen "em. 

But this I heard her say, and can't be wrong. 
And all may think which way their judg- 
ments lean 'em, [' I am,' 

" 'T is strange — the Hebrew noun which means 

The English always use to govern d — n." 



Some women use their tongues — she look'd a 

lecture. 

Each eyeasei-mon, and her brow a homily 
An all-in-all sufficient self-director, 

Like the lamented late Sir SamuelRomilly,3 
The Law's expounder, and the State's corrector 

Whose suicide was almost an anomaly — 
One sad example more, that " All is vanity," 
(The jury brought their verdict in " Insanity. ') 

XVI. 

In short, she was a walking calculation. 
Miss Edgeworth's novels stepping from their 
covers. 

Or Mrs. Trimmer's books on education. 
Or " Coelebs' Wife " set out in quest o« 
lovers. 

Morality's prim personification, 

Jn which not Envy's self a flaw discover? ; 

To others' share let " female errors fall," 

For she had not even one — the worst of all. 



Oh ! she was perfect past all parallel — 
Of any modern female saint's comparison ; 

So far above the cunning powers of hell. 
Her guardian angel had gi^en up his gar- 
rison ; 

Even her minutest motions went as well 
As those of the best time-piece made by 
Harrison : 

In virtues nothing earthly could surpass her, 

Save thine " incomparable oil," Macassar I 

XVIII. 

Perfect she was, but as perfection is 
Insipid in this naughty world of ours. 

Where our first parents never leam'd to kiss 
Till they were exiled from their earlie» 
bowers. 

Where all was peace, and innocence, and bliss, 
(I wonder how they got through the twelve 
hours), 

Don Jose like a lineal son of Eve, 

Went plucking various fruit without her leave 



He was a mortal of the careless kind. 

With no great love for learning, or tb« 
leam'd. 

Who chose to go where'er he had a mind. 
And never dream'd his lady was concern'd^. 

The world, as usual, wickedly inclined 
To see a kingdom or a house o'ertum'd, 

Whisper'd he had a mistress, some said two, 

But for domestic quarrels one will do. 



320 



DON JUAN. 



c^uw Donna Inez had, with all her merit, 
A great opinion of her own good qualities ; 

Neglect, indeed, requires a saint to bear it, 
And such, indeed, she was in her moralities; 

But then she had a devil ol' a spirit, 

And sometimes mix'd up fancies with reali- 
ties, 

And let i'ew opportunities escape 

Of getting her liege lord into a scrape. 

XXI, 

This was an easy matter with a man 

Oft in the wrong, and never on his guai-d ; 

And even the wisest, do the best they can, 
Have moments, hours, and days, so unpre- 
pared, [fan;" 

That you might " brain them with their lady's 
And sometimes ladies hit exceeding hard, 

And fans turn into falchions in fair hands. 

And why and wherefore no one understands 

XXII. 

T is pity learned virgins ever wed 

With persons of no sort of education. 
Or, gentlemen, who, though well born and bred. 

Grow tired of scientific conversation- 
I don't choose to say much upon this head, 

I 'm a ])lain man, and in a single station, 
But — Oh ! ye lords of ladies intellectual, 
Infoi-m us truly, have they not hen-peck'd you 
all? 

xxrii. 
Don Jose and his lady quarrell'd — why, 

Not any of the many could divine. 
Though several thousand people chose to try, 

T was surely no concern of theirs nor mine ; 
I loathe that low vice — curiosity; 

But if there 's any thing in which I shine. 
T is in arranging all my friends' affairs. 
Not having, of my own, domestic caies. 

XXIV. 

And so I interfered, and with the best 

Intentions, but their treatment was not kind ; 

I think the foolish people were possess'd. 
For neither of them could I ever imd. 

Although their porter afterwards confess'd — 
But that 's no matter, and the worst's behind. 

For little Juan o'er me threw, down stairs, 

A pail of housemaid's water unawares. 



A little curly-headed, good-for-nothing. 

And mischief-making monkey from hisbirth; 

riis parents ne'er agreed except in doting 
Upon the most >"»ouiet imp o»' «arth ; 



1 nstead of quarrelling, had they been but boti 

m [forth 

Their senses, they 'd have sent young mastei 

To school, or had him soundly whipp'd at home 

To teach him manners for the time to come. 

XXVI. 

Don Jose and the Donna Inez led 

For some time an unhappy sort of life. 

Wishing each other, not divorced, but dead; 
They lived respectably as man and wife. 

Their conduct was exceedingly well-bred. 
And gave no outward signs of inward strife. 

Until at length the smother'd* fire broke out. 

And put the business past all kind of doubt, 

XXVII. 

For Inez call'd some druggists, and physician* 

And ti'ied to prove her loving lord was mai 
But as he had some lucid intermissions, 

She next decided he was only bad; 
Yet when they ask'd her for her depositions, 

No sort of explanation could be had. 
Save that her duty both to man and God 
Required this conduct — which seem'd veir 
odd. 

xxvm. 
She kept a journal, where his faults were notet 

And open'd certain trunks of books and letters 
All which might, if occasion served, be quoted- 

And then she had all Seville for abettors, 
Besides her good old grandmother (who dotedj, 

The hearers of her case became repeaters. 
Then advocates, inquisitors, and judges. 
Some for amusement, otliers for old gi'udges. 

XXIX. 

And then this best anu meekest woman bore 
With such serenity her husband's woes. 

Just as the Spartan ladies did of yore. 

Who saw their spouses kill'd, and nobly cho9» 

Never to say a word about them more — 
Calmly she heard each calumny that rose. 

And saw his agonies with such sublimity, 

That all the world exclaim'd, " What magna- 
nimity!" 

XXX. 

No doubt this patience, when the woild is 
damning us, 

Is philosophic in our former friends; 
'T is also pleasant to be deem'd magnanimous, 

The more so in obtaining our own ends ; 
And what the lawyets call a "malus animu* 

Conduct like this by no means comprehend* 
Revenge in person 's certainly no virtue, 
But then ' is not tny fault, iioihert hurt you, 



DO^' JL'AN. 



321 



XXXI. 

Kvd if our quan-els should rip up old stories, 
And help iheni with alie or two additional, 

I'm not to blumCj as you well know — no more 
is 
Any one else — they were become traditional ; 

Besides, their resurrection aids our glories 
By contrast, which is what we just were 
wishing all: 

And science profits by this resurrection — 

Headscandals ibrni goodsubjects for dissection 

XXXII. 

Their friends had tried at reconciliation, 

Then their relations,who made matters worse. 
("T wore hard to tell upon a like occasion 

To whom it may be best to have recourse — 
I can't say much tor friend or yet relation^ 

Tlie lawyers did their utmost for divorce, 
I'Jiit scarce a ft-e was paid on cither side 
Hefore, uiduckily, Don Jose died. 

XXXIII. 
He died; and most unluckily, because, 

According to all hints I could collect 
From coimsel learned in those kind of laws, 

(Although their talk 's obscure and circum- 
spect) • 
His deatli contrived to spoil a charming cause; 

A thousand pities also with respect 
To public feeling, which on this occasion 
Was manifested in a great sensation. 

XXXIV. 

But ah '. he died ! and buried with him lay 
The public feeling and the lawyers' fees: 

His house was sold, his servants sent away, 
A Jew took one of his two mistresses, 

A priest the other — at least so they say : 
I ask'd the doctors alter his disease — 

He died of the slow fever call'd the tertian. 

And left his widow to her own aversion. 

XXXV. 

Yet Jose was an honourable man. 

That I must say, who knew him very well ; 
Therefore his frailties I '11 no further scan, 

Indeed there were not many more to tell: 
4.nd if his passions now and then outran 

Discretion, and v.-ere not so peaceable 
As Noma's (who was also named Pompilius), 
He had been ill brought up, and was born 
bilious. 

XXXVI. 

Whate'er might be his wortUessness or worth, 
I'oor fellow 1 be had many things to wound 
him. 

[iCt 's own — since it can do no good on eartli — 
It wusa try ingf moment that- which foundhim 

%2 



Standing alone beside his desolate hearth, 
Where all his household gods lay shiver d 
rcund him. 
No choice was left his feelings or his pride, 
Save death or Doctors' Commons — so he died. 

XXXVII. 

Dying intestate, Juan was sole heir 

To a chancery suit, and messuages, and lands. 

Which, with a Long minority and care. 
Promised to tui-n out well in proper hands 

Inez became sole guardian, which was fair. 
And answer'd but to nature's just demands j 

An only son left with an only mother 

Is brought up m.uch more wisely than another. 

XXXVIII. 

Sagest of women, even of widows, she 

Resolved that J uan should be quite a paragon^ 

And worthy ol' the noblest pedigree , 

(His sire was of Castile, his dam from Aragon.) 

Then for accomplishments of chivalry, 

In case our lord the king should go to war 
again, 

He learn'd the arts of riding, fencing, gunnery. 

And how to scale a fortress — or a nunnery, 

XXXIX. 

But that which Donna Inez most desired. 

And saw into herself each day b-.-fore all 
The learned tutors whom for him she hired 

Was, that his breeding shoulil be strictly 

'i moral : 
Much into all his studies she inquired, 

And so they were submitted first to her, all, 
Arts, sciences, no branch was made a mystery 
To Juan's eyes, excepting natural history. 



The languages, especially the dead, 

The sciences, and most of all the abstruse. 

The arts, at least all such as could be said 
To be the most remote from common use, 

In all these he was much and deeply read ; 
But not a page of any thing that's loose. 

Or hints continuation of the species, 

"W^as ever sufier'd, lest he should grow vi 



His classic studies made a little pu?j?le, 
Becauseof filthy loves of gods and goddesses^ 

Who in the earlier ages raised a bustle, 
But never put on pantaloons or bodices ; 

His reverend tutors had at times a tussit. 
And for their iEneids, Iliads, and Odyssey ^ 

Were foi-ced to malce an odd sort of apology, 

For Donna Inez dreaded the Mytiiology. 



622 



DON JUAN. 



XLII. 

Ovid's a rake, as half his verses show him, 
Anacreon's morals are a still worse sample, 

Catullus scarcely has a deceut poem, 

I don't think Sappho's Ode a good example, 

Although Longinus tells us there is no hymn 
Where the sublime soars forth on wings 
more ample; [one 

But Virgil's songs are pure, except that homd 

Beginning with " Formosum Pastor Corydon." 

XLIII. 

Lucretius' irrellgion is loo strong 

For early stomachs, to prove wholesome food ; 
I can't help thinking Juvenal was WTong, 

Although no doubt his real intent was good, 
For speaking out so plainly in his song, 

So much indeed as to be downright rude ; 
And then what proper person can be partial 
To all those nauseous epigrams of Martial? 



Juan was taught from out the best edition, 
Expurgated by learned men, who place, 

Judiciously, from out the schoolboy's vision. 
The grosser parts ; but, fearful to deface 

Too much their modest bard by this omission, 
And pitying sore his mutilated case, 

They only add them all in an appendix, 

Which saves, in fact, the trouble of an index ; 

XLV. 

For there we have them all " at one fell swoop." 
Instead of being scatter'd through the pagCT ; 

They stand forth marshall'd in a handsome 
troop, 
To meet the ingenuous youth of future ages, 

Till some less rigid editor shall stoop 

To call them back into their separate cages, 

[nstead of standing staring altogether, 

Like garden gods — and not so decent either. 



The Missal too (it was the family Missal) 
Was ornamented in a sort of way 

V> hich ancient mass-books often are, and this all 
Kinds of grotesques illumined ; and how they. 

Who saw those figures on the margin kiss all, 
Could turn their optics to the text and pray, 

Is more than I know — But Don Juan's mother 

Kept this herself, and gave her son another, 

XLV 1 1. 

Sermons he read, and lectures he endured, 
And homilies, and lives of all tlie saints ; 

To Jerome and to Chrysostom inured, 

Ke did not lake such studies for restraints : 



But how faith is acquired, and then tn?ijed, 

So well not one of the aforesaid paints 
As Saint Augustine in his fine Confessions, 
Which make the reader envy his trjinsgressions 



This, too, was a seal'd book to little Juai>~- 
I can't but say that his mamma was right. 

If such an education was the true one. 

She scai-cely trusted him from out her sight 

Her niaids' were old, and if she took anew one 
You might be sure she was a perfect fright 

Shp did this during even her husband's life — 

I recommend as much to every wife. 

XLIX 

Young Juan wax'd in goodliness and grace ; 

At six a chamiing child, and at eleven 
With all the promise of as fine a face 

As e'er to man's maturer growth was given,- 
He studied steadily, and grew apace. 

And seem'd, at least, in the right road tc 
heaven, 
Forhalfhisdayswerepass'dat church, the othei 
Between his tutors, confessor, and mother. 



At six, I said, he was a charming child. 
At twelve he was a fine, but quiet boy ; 

Although in infancy a little wild, 

They tamed him down amongst them : U 
destroy 

His natural spirit not in vain they toil'd. 
At least it seem d so; and his mother's joy 

Was to declare how sage, a:id still, and steady 

Her young philosopher was gi-own aheady. 



I had my doubts, perhaps I have them still, 
But what I say is neither here nor there : 

I knew his lather well, and have some skill 
In character — but it would not be fair 

From sire to son to augur good or ill : 
He and his wife were an ill-sorted pair — 

But scandal 's my aversion — I ijrotest 

Against all evil speaking, even in jest 



For my part I say nothing — nothing — but 

This I will say — my reasons are my own- 
That if I had an only son to put 

To school (as G od be praised that I have none) 
T is not with Donna Inez I would shut 
Him up to learn his catechism alone. 
No — no — I 'd send him out betimes to college, 
For there it was I pick'd up my own knowledge 



DON JUAN. 



323 



For there one ieams — 't i.s not for me to boast, 

Though I acquired — but I pass over that. 
As well as all the Greek I since have lost: 
I say that there's the place — but " Verbum 

sat." 
think I Dick'd up too, as well as most, 
Knowledge of matters — but no matter iij/ja/ — 
never married — but, I think, I know 
That sons should not be educated so. 

LIV. 

Voung Juan now was sixteen years of age, 
Tall, handsome, slender, but well knit: he 
seem'd 

Active, though not so sprightly, as a page ; 
And every body but his mother deem'd 

Him almost man ; but she flew in a rage 
And bit her lips (for else she might have 
scream'd) 

If any said so, for to be precocious 

VVaj m her eyes a thing the most atrocious. 

LV. 

Amongst her numerous acquaintance, all 
Selected for discretion and devotion, 

There was the Donna Julia, whom to call 
Pretty were but to give a feeble notion 

Of many charms in her as natural 

As sweetness to the flower, or salt to ocean. 

Her zone to Venus, or his bow to Cnpid, 

'But this last simile is trite and stupid.) 

LVI. 

The darkness of her Oriental ej'e 
Accorded with her Moorish origin ; 

(Her blood was not all Spanish, by the by ; 
In Spain, you know, this is a sort of sin.) 

When proud Granada fell, and, forced to fly, 
Boabdil wept, of Donna Julia's kin 

Some went to Africa, some stay'd in Spain, 

Her gi'eat great grandmamma chose to remain 

LVII. 

She married (I forget the pedigi-ee) 

With an Hidalgo, who transmitted do-wTi 

His blood less noble than such blood should be 
Al such alliances his sires would frown, 

.n that point so precise in each degree 

That th evb"ed in and in, as might be shown, 

Marryitig tLsir »i3'.i:s — nay, thcur aunts, and 
nieces, 

Which always spoils the breed, if it increases. 

LVIII. 

This heathenish cross restored, the breed again, 
Ruin'd its blood, but much improved its 
flosh; 

For from a root tlie ugliest in Old Spain 
Spnmg up a hraiioh us beautiful as fresk ; 



The sons no more were short, the dai ghters 

phiin . Lhush 

But there's a rumoLu- which I fain \\onl4 

'T is said that Donna Julia's grandmamma 

Produced her Don more heirs at love than law 



However this might be, the race went on 
Improving still through, every generation, 

Until it centred in <an only son. 

Who left an only daughter; my naiTation 

May have suggested that this single one 
Could be but Julia (whom on this oceasia 

I shall have much to speak about), and she 

Was married, channing, chaste, and tweutv 
three. 



Her eye (I 'm very fond of handsome eyes) 
Was large and dark, suppressing half its fire 

Until^shc spoke, then through its softdisguis* 
Flush'd an expression more of pride than ire, 

And love than either ; and there would arise 
A something in them which was not desire 

But would have been, perhaps, but for the sou. 

Which struggled through and chasten'd down 
the whole. 

LXI. 

Her glossy hair was cluster'd o'er a brow 
Bright with intelligence,and fair, and smooth; 

Her eyebrow's shape was like the aeiial bow 
Hev cheek all puqjle with the beam of youth 

Mounting, at times, to a transparent glow. 
As if her veins ran lightning; she, in sooik 

Possess d an air and grace by no means common 

Her stature tall — I hate a dumpy woman. 

LXII. 

Wedded she was some years, and to a man 
Of fifty, and such husbands are in plenty. 

And yet, I think, instead of such a one 
'T were better to have two of five-and-twenty, 

Especially in countries near the sun: 

And now I think on't, "mi vien in mente. 

Ladies even of the most uneasy virtue 

Prefer a spouse whose age s short of thirty. 

LXIII. 

"T is a sad tning, I cannot choose but say. 
And all the fault of that indecen*^ snn. 

Who cannot leave alone our helpless clay. 
But will keep baking, broiling, burning oa 

That howsoever people f ist and pray, 

The flesh is frail, and so the soul undone: 

What men call gallantr;? and gods adultery 

Is much more common wl sre the climate 
siiltry, 



324 



DON JUAN. 



LXIV. 

Happy the nations of th? moral North I 

Where all is virtue, and the winter season 
Sends shi, without a rag on, shivering forth 
(Twas snow that brought St. Anthony to 
reason); 
Where juries cast up what a wife is worth, 
J3y layingwhate'er sum, in mulct, they please 
on 
'"he lover, who must pay a handsome price, 
ecause it is a marketable vice. 



Alfonso was the name of Julia's lord, 

A man well looking for his years, and who 

Was neither much beloved nor yet abhorr'd : 
They lived together as most people do. 

Suffering each other's foibles by accord, 
And not exactly either one or two ; 

Yet he was jealous, though he did not show it, 

For jealousy disHkes the world to know it. 

LXVI. 

Julia was — yet T never could see why — 
With Donna Inez quite a favourite friend ; 

Between their tastes there was small sympathy, 
For not a line had Julia ever pcnn'd; 

Some people whisper (but, no doubt, they lie, 
For malice still imputes some private end) 

That Inez had, ere Don Alfonso's marriage, 

Forgot with him her very prudent carriage; 

Lxvri, 

And that still keeping up the old connection, 
Which time had lately render'd much more 
chaste, 

She took his lady also in affection. 

And certainly this course was much the best: 

She flatter'd Julia ■n-ith her sage protection. 
And complimented Don Alfonso's taste: 

A.nd if she could not (who can?) silence scandal. 

At least she left it a more slender handle. 

LXVIII. 

f can't tell whether Julia saw the affair 
With other people's eyes, or if her own 

i9iscoveries made^ but none could be aware 
Of this, at least uo symptom e'er was shown 

Perhaps she did not know, or did not care, 
Indifferent from the first, or callous grown- 

I'm really puzzled what to think or say, 

She kept her counsel in so close a way. 

LXIX. 

luan she saw, and, as a pretty child, 
Caress'd him often — such a thing might be 

Liuite innocently done, and harmless styled, 
WbeQ she had twenty years and thirteen he; 



But I am not so sure I should have smiled 
When he was sixteen, Julia twenty-three; 
These few short yeai's make wondrous altera 

tions, 
Particularly amongst sun-burnt nations. 

LXX. 

Whate'er the cause might be, they had be torn 

Changed; for the dame grew distant, th 

youth shy, [dum 

Their looks cast down, their greetings almost 
And much embarrassment in either eye; 

There surely will be little doubt with some 
That Donna Julia knew the reason why, 

But as for Juan, he had no more notion 

Than he who never saw the sea of ocean 

LXXI. 

Yet Julia's very coldness still was kind, 
And tremulously gentle her small hand 

With(b-ew itself from his, but left behind 
A little pressure, thrilling, and so bland 

And slight, so very slight, that to the mind 
'Twas but a doubt; but ne'er magician's 
wand 

Wrought change with all Armida's fairy art 

Like what this light touch left on Juan's lieart 

LXXII. 

And if she met him, though she smiled no more. 
She looked a sadness sweeter than her smile, 

As if her heart had deeper thoughts in store 
She must not own, but cherish'd more the 
while 

For that compression in its burning core ; 
Even innocence itself has many a wile, 

And will not dare to liu^t itself with truth, 

And love is taught hypocrisy from youth, 

LXXIII. 

But passion most dissembles, yet betrays 
Even by its darkness; as the blackest sky 

Foretells the heaviest tempest, it displays 
Its workings through the vainly guarded ej« 

And in whatever aspect it an-ays 
Itself, 'tis still the same hypocrisy; 

Coldness or anger, even disdain or hate. 

Are masks it often wears, and still too late. 

I,XXIV. 

Then there were sighs, the deeper for sup 
pression., 

And stolen glances, sweeter for the theft, 
And burning blushes, though for no trans- 
gression, [left: 

Tremblings when met, and restlessness when 
All these are little preludes to possession. 

Of which young passion cannot be bereft. 
And merely tend to show how greatly love it 
Embarrass'd at first starting with a uovioe. 



DON JUAN. 



LXXV. 

Poor Julia's heart was in an awkward state ; 

She felt it going, and resolved to make 
The noblest eiforts for herself and mate, 

For honour's, pride's, religion's, virtue's sake 
Her resDlutions w ere most truly great. 

And almost might have made a Tarquin 
quake : 
She pray'd the Virgin Mary for her grace, 
As being the best judge of a lady's case. 

LXXVI. 

She vow'd she never would see Juan more, 
And next day paid a visit to his mother, 

And look'd extremely at the opening door, 
Which, by the Virgin's grace, let in another; 

Grateful she was, and yet a little sore — 
Again it opens, it can be no other, 

T is surely Juan now — Nc ; I 'm afraid 

That night the Virgin was no further pray'd. 



She now detennined that a virtuous woman 

Should rather face and overcome temptation, 
That flight was base and dastardly, and no man 

Should e ver gi v e her heart the least sensation ; 
That is to say, a thought beyond the common 

Pi-eference, that we must feel upon occasion, 
For people who are pleasanter than others, 
But then they only seem so many brothers. 
*^ 
; Lxxviii. 

And even if by chance — and who can tell? 

The devil's so very sly — she should discover 
That all within was not so very well. 

And, if still free, that such or such a lover 
Might please perhaps, a virtuous wife can quell 

Such thoughts, and be the better when they 're 
over; 
And if the man should ask, 't is but denial : 
I recommend yoimg ladies to make trial. 

LXXIX. 

And then there are such things as love divine, 
Bright and immaculate, unmix'd and pure, 

Such as the angels think so very fine, 

And matrons, who would be no less secure, 

Platonic, perfect, "just such love as mine;" 
Thus Julia said — and thought so, to be sui'e; 

And so I'd have her think, were I the man 

Qn -vvhom her reveries celestial ran. 

LXXX. 

Kiich love is innocent, imd njay exist 

|-!etweeu young persons without any danger. 

A hand may first, and then a lip be kistj 
For inv uait. to such doings I m a strange/, 



But hear these freedoms form the utmost lis 
Of all o'er which such love may be a ranger 
If people go beyond, 'tis quite a crime, 
But not my fault — I tell them all in time. 

I.XXXI. 

Love, then, but love within its proper limits, 
Was Julia's innocent determination 

In young Don Juan's favour, and to him its 
Exertion might be useful on occasion ; 

And, lighted at too pure a shrine to dim its 
Ethereal lustre, with what sweet persuasion 

He might be taught, by love and her together— 

I really don't know what, nor Julia cither. 

I.XXXII. 

Fraughtwiththis fine intention, and well fenced 
In mail of proof — her purity of soul, 

She, for the future of her sti'ength convinced. 
And that her honour was a rock, or mole. 

Exceeding sagely from that hour dispensed 
With any kind of trou'olesome control; 

But whether Julia to the task was equal 

Is that which must be mention'd in the sequel 

LXXXIII. 

Her pi an she deem'dboth innocent and feasible. 

And, surely, with a stripling of sixteen 
Not scandal's fangs could fix on much that s 
seizable, 
Or if they did so, satisfied to mean 
Nothing but what was good, her breast was 
peaceable — 
A. quiet conscience makes one so serene I 
Christians have burnt each other, quite per- 
suaded [did. 
That all the Apostles would have done as they 

LXXXIV. 

And if in me mean time her husband died, 
But Heaven forbid that such a thought 
should cross [sigh'd; 

Her brain, though in a dream ! (and then she 
Never could she survive that common loss; 

i^ut just suppose that moment should betide, 
I only say supj^ose it — inier nos. 

(This should be erJrc nouit, for Julia thought 

In French, but then the rhyme would go fcv 
nought.) 

LXXXV. 

I only say, suppose this supposition : 

Juan being then grown up to man's estate 

Would fully suit a widow of condition, [late, 
Even sever /ears hence it would not be toe 

And in the mterim (to pursue this vision) 
The mischief, after all, could not be great, 

For he would learn th3 rudiments of love, 

I mean tlie serauh way of those above 



:^2G 



DON JIJAN. 



LXXXVI. 

S.. much for Julia. Now we'll turn to Juan. 

Poor little fellow! he had no idea 
Of his own case, and never hit the true one: 

In feelings quicic as Ovid's Miss Medea,32 
Hi puzzled over what he found a new one, 

But not as yet imagined it could be a 
Thing quite in course, and not at all alarming, 
Which, with a little patience, might grow 
charming, 

LXXXVII. 

Silent and pensive, idle, restless, slow, 
His horae deserted lor the lonely wood, 

Tormented with a wound he could not know, 
His, like all deep grief, plunged in solitude: 

I 'm fond myself of solitude or so. 

But then,' I beg it may be understood, 

Bv solitude 1 mean a sultan's, not 

A hermit s, witn a haram for a groL 

x.xxxviti 
"Oh Love! in sucu a wilderness as this, 

Where transport and seciu-ity entwine, 
Elere is the empire of thy perfect bliss, 

And here thou art a god indeed divine." 
Ibe bard I quote from does not sing amiss,33 

With the exception of the second line, _ 
For that sametwiuing" transport and security'" 
A.re twisted to a phrase of some obsr.iir;*v 

T.XXXIX. 

The poet meant, no doubt, and thus appeals 
To the good sense and senses of mankind, 
The very thing which every body feels, 

As all have found on trial, or may find. 
That no one likes to be disturb'd at meals 

Orlove — I won't say more about "entwined" 
>r " transport," as we knew all that before, 
Jut beg " Security" wU bolt the door. 



Of its disease ; he did the best he could 

With things not very subject to control, 
And t'.rn'd, without perceiving his condition 
Like Coleridge, into a metaphvsician. 

XCII. 

He thought about himself, and the whole eartli 
Of man the wonderful, and of the stars, 

And how the deuce they ever could havebiith, 
And then he thought of earthquakes, and oi 
wars. 

How many miles the moon might have in girth 
Of air-balloons, and of the many bars 

To perfect knowledge of the boundless skies ; — 

And then he thought of Donna Julia's eyes. 

XCIII. 

In thoughts like these true wisdom may discerr 
Longings sublime, and aspirations high, 

Which some are born with, but the most pan 
learn L\vhy 

To plague themselves withal, they know not 

*T was stranjie that one so young should thus j) 
concern 
His brain about the action of the sky ; j 

If you think 'tw as philosophy that this did. ••* 

I cau't help thinking puberrv assisted. 



Pie pored upon tJie leaves, and on the flowers^ 
And heard a voice in all the winds ; and then 

He thought of wood-nvmphs and immortal 

bowers, 5 

And how the goddesses came down to men • 

He miss'd the pathway, he forgot the hours. 
And when he look'd upon his watch again, 

He found how much old Time had been a 
winner—^ 

He also foun'd that he had lost his dinner. 



ioung Juan wander'd by the glassy brooks, 
Thinking unutterable things ; he threw 

Himself at length within the leafy nooks 
Where the wi Id branch of the cork forest grew ; 

There poets tma materials for their books, 
And every now and then we read them 
through. 

So that their plan and prosody are eligible, 

tlnless, like Wordsworth, they prove unin- 
telliffible. ■ 



Sometimes he tum'd to gaze upon his book, 
Boscan34, or Garcilasso35; — by the wind 

Eveu as the page is rustled while we look, 
So by the poesy of his own mind 

Over the mystic leaf his soul was shook. 
As if 'twere one whereon masricians bind 

Their spells, and give them to the passing gale, 

According to some good old woman s tale. 



He, Juan, (and not Wordsworth) so pursued 
His self-communion with his own high soul. 

Until his mighty heart, in its great mood, 
Had mitigated part, though not the whole 



Thus would he while his lonely hours away 
Dissatisfied, nor knowing what he wanted 

Nor glowing reverie, nor poets lay. 

Could yield his spirit that for which itpantea 



DON JUAN. 



327 



A bosom whereon he his head might lay, 
And hear the heart beat with the love it 
granted, 

With several other things which I forget. 

Or which, at least, I need not mention yet. 

xcvir. 

Those lonely walks, and lengthening reveries, 

Could not escape the gentle Julia's eyes ; 
She saw that Juan was not at liis ease ; 
But that which chiefly may, and must sur- 
prise, 
I, tiaat the Donna Inez did not tease 
• Her only son with question or surmise; 
Whether it was she did not see, or would not, 
Or. like all very clever people, could not 

XCVIII. 

This may seem strange, but yet 'tis very com 
mon ; 
For instance — gentlemen, whose ladies take 
Leave to o'erstep the written rights of woman. 

And break the Which commandment 

is 't they break ? 

(I have forgot the number, and think no man 

Should rashly quote, for fear of a mistake.) 

I say when these same gentlemen are jealous, 

They make some blunder, which their ladies 

tell us. 

xcix. 
A real husband always is suspicious, 

But still no less suspects in the wrong place. 
Jealous of some one who had no such wishes. 

Or pandering blindly to his own <lisgrace, 
By harbouring some dear friend extremely 
vicious ; 
The last indeed 's infallibly the case: 
And when the spouse and friend aie gone off 

wholly, 
He wonders at thei: vice, and not his folly. 

c. 
"Thus parents also a/e at times short-sighted : 
Though watchful as the lynx, they ne'er 
discover, 
The while the wicked world beholds delighted. 
Young Hopeful's mistress, or Miss Fanny's 
lover. 
Till some confounded escapade has blighted 
The plan of twenty years, and all is over; 
And then the mother cries, the father swears, 
And wonders why the devil he got heirs. 



But -what that motive was, I shan't say heroj 

Perhaps to finish Juan's education. 
Perhaps to open Don Alfonso's eyes, 
In case he thought his wile too great a prize 

CII. 

It was upon a day, a summer's day ; — 

Snmr/ier 's indeed a very dangerous season 

And so is spring at)0ut the end of May ; 
The sun. no doubt, is the prevailing reasf,n» 

But whatsoe'er the cause is, one may say, 
And stand convicted of more truth than 
treason, [more meriy in, — 

That there are months which natuie grows 

March has its hares, and May must have its 
heroine, 

cm. 

'T was on a summer's day — the sixth of June; 

I like to be particular in dates, 
Not only of the age, and year, but moon ; 

They are a sort of post-house, where the 
Fates 
Change horses, making history change its tune, 

Then spur away o'er empires and o'er states, 
I,eaving at last not much besides chronology, 
Excepting the postobits of theology. 

CIV. 

'T was on the sixth of June, about the hou 
Of half-past six — perhaps still nearer seven— 

When Julia sate within as pretty a bower 
As e'er held houri in that heathenish heaven 

Described by Mahomet and Anacreon Moore, 
To whom the lyre and laurels have been 
given, 

With all the trophies of triumphant song — 

He won them well, and may he wear them 
Ions! 



But Inez was so anxious, and so clear 
Of sight, that I must think, on this occasion, 

She had some other motive much more near 
For leaving Juan to this new tempUtiou, 



She sate, but not alone ; I know^ not well 

How this same interview had taken place. 
And even if I knew, I should not tell — 
People should hold their timgues in any 
case ; 
No matter how or why the thing befell, 

But there were she and Juan, face to face- 
When two such faces are so, 't would be wise^ 
But very difficult, to shut their eyes. 

cvi. 
How beautiful she look'd! her conscious hean 
Glow'd in her cheek, and yet she felt no 
wronir. 
Oh Love I how perfect is thy mystic art. 
Strengthening the weak, and Uampling on 
the strong. 



328 



DON JUAK 



How self-cleceitful is the sagest part 

Of mortals whom thy hire hath led along ^ 
The precipice she stood on was immense, 
So was her creed in her own innocence. 

CVII. 

She thought of her own strength, and Juan's 
youth, 

And of the lolly of all prudish fears, 
Victorious virtue, and domestic truth. 

And then of Don Alfonzo's fifty years : 
I wish taese last had not occurr'd, in sooth, 

Because that number rarely much endears, 
And through all climes, the snowy and the sunny. 
Sounds iU in love, whate'er it may in money. 

CVIII. 

When people say, " I've told jouffty times,' 
They mean to scold, and very often do ; 

When poets say, "I 've M'ritien fifty rhymes," 
They make you dread that they '11 recite 
them too ; 

111 gangs oi fifty, thieves commit their crimes; 
At fifty love for love is rare, 'tis true. 

But then, no doubt, it equally as true is, ^ 

A good deal may be bought iox fifty Louis. 

cix. 
Julia had honour, virtue, truth, and love 

For Don Ahbnso ; and she inly swore, 
By all the vows below to powers above, 

She never would disgrace the ring she wore, 
Nor leave a wish which wisdom might reprove ; 

And while she ponder'd this, besides much 
more, 
One hand on Juan's carelessly was thrown, 
Quite by mistalce — she thought it was her own ; 



Unconsciously she lean'd upon the other. 
Which play'd w ilhin the tangles of her hair ; 

\nd to contend v/ith tlioughts she could not 
smother 
She seem'd, by the distraction of her air. 

Twas surely very wrong in Juan's mother 
To leave together this imprudent pair, 

She who for many years had watch'd her son 
so — 

I'm very certain mine would not have done so. 

CXI. 

The hand which still held Juan's, by degrees 
Gently, but palpably conlirm'd its grasp, 

.\s if it said, " Detain me, if you please ; " 
Yet there's no doubt she only meant to clasp 

His fingers with a puie Platonic squeeze ; 
She would have shrunk as liom a toad, or asp, 

Had she imagined such a thing could rouse 

\ feeling dangerous to a prudent spouse. 



1 



I cannot know what Juan thought of this, 
But what he did, is much what you woald do 

His young lip thank'd it with a grateful kiss, 
And then, abash d at its own joy, withdrew 

In deep despair, lest he had done amiss, — 
Love is so very timid when 't is new : 

She blush'd, and frown 'd not, but she strove t« 
speak, , weak. 

And held her tongue, her voice was grown « 

CXIII, 

The sun set, and up rose the yellow moon: ' 

The devil's in the moon lor mischief; they 
W^ho call'd her CHASTE,methinks,began too soon 

Their nomenclature ; there is not a day, 
The longest, not the twenty-first of June, 

Sees half the business in a wicked way, 
On which three single hours of moonshin« 

smile — 
And then she looks so modest all the while 

cxiv. 
There is a dangerous silence in that hour, 

A stillness, which leaves room for the full .soil 
To open all itself, without the power 

Of calling wholly back its self-control ; 
The silver light which. hallowingtree and towec 

Sheds beauty and deep softness o'er the whole, 
Breathes also to the heart, and o'er it throws 
A loving languor, which is not repose. 

cx\'. 
And Julia sate with Juan, half embraced 

And half retiring from the glowing arm, 
Which trembled like the bosom where 't was 
placed ; [harm, 

Yet still she must have thought there was no 
Or else 'twere easy to withdraw her waist; 

But then the situation had its chaim, 

And tlien God knows what next — I can'l 

go on ; 
I 'm almost sony that I e'er begun. 

cxvi. 

Oh Plato! Plato! you have paved the 'ay, 
With your confounded fantasies, to more 

Immoral conduct by the fancied sway 

Your system feigns o'er the controulless coll 

Of human hearts, than all the long array 
Of poets and romancers : — You're a bore* 

A charlatan, a coxcomb — and have been. 

At best, no better than a go-between 

XVII. 

And Julia's voice was lost, except in sighs, 
Until too late for useful conversation; 

The tears were gushing from her gentle eyes, 
I wish, indeed, they had not had occasion 



DON JUAN. 



329 



But who, alas ! can lov2 and then be wise ? 
Not that remorse did n(*oppose temptation; 

A. little siill she strove, and much repented. 

And vvhisi)eriiig " I will ne'er consent" — con 
s nteri 

cxviir 

T is said that Xerxes offer'd a reward 
To those who could invent him a new pleasure: 
ethinks, tiie reiiuisition 's rather hard, 
And must have cost his majesty a treasure : 

For my part, I 'm a moderate-minded bard, 
Fond of a little love (which I call leisure); 

I care not for new pleasures, as the old 

Are quite enough for me, so they but hold. 



Oh Pleasure ! you are indeed a pleasant thing, 
Although one must be damn'd for you, no 
doubt : 

I make a resolution every spring 
Of reformation, ere the year run out. 

But somehow, this my vestal vow takes wing, 
Yet still, I trust, it may be kept throughout : 

I 'm very sorry, very much ashamed, 

And mean, next winter, to be quite reclaim d. 

cxx. 

Here my chaste Muse a liberty must take — • 
Start ttot! still chaster reader — she '11 be 
nice hence- 
Forward, and there is no great cause to quake; 

This liberty is a poetic licence. 
Which some irregularity may make 

In the design, and as I have a high sense 
Of Aristotle and the Rules, 't is fit 
To beg his pardon when I eiT a bit. 

cxxi. 
This licence is to hope the reader will 

Suppose from June the sixth, ("the fatal day, 
Without whose epoch my poetic skill 

For v/ant of facts wouki all be thrown away. 
But keeping Julia and Don Juan still 

In sight, that several months have pass'd ; 
we '11 say 
T yas in November, but I'm not so sure 
Aocut the day — the era 's more obscure 

CXXII. 

We '11 talk of that anon. — 'T is sweet to hear 
At midnight on the blue and moonlit deep 

The song and wir of Adria's gondolier, . 
By distance mellow'd, o'er the waters sweep, 

Tis sweet to see the evening star appear; 
'T is sweet to listen as the night-winds creep 

ftom leaf to leaf; 'tis sweet to view on high 

The rainbow, based on ocean, span the sky. 



cxxin. 

'T is sweet to hear the watch-dog's honest bar> 

Bay deep-mouth'd welcome as we draw neai 

home; 

'T is sweet to know there is an eye will mark 

Our coming.and look brighter when we come 

'T is sweet to be awaken 'd by the lark, 

Or lull'd by falling waters ; sweet the hum 
Of bees, the voice of girls, the song of birds. 
The lisp of children, and th'^ir earliest words 

cxxiv. 
Sweet is the vintage, when the showering grapej 

In Bacchanal profusion reel to earth. 
Purple and gushing : sweet are our escapes 

From civic revelry to rural mirth ; 
Sweet to the raiser are his glittering heaps, 

Sweet to the father is his first-born's birth, 
Sweet is revenge — especially to women, 
Pillage to soldiers, prize-money to seamen. 

cxxv. 
Sweet is a legacy, and passing sweet 

The unexpected death of some old lady. 
Or gentlemen of seventy years complete. 
Who've made "us youth" wait too— toa 
long already, 
For an estate, or cash, or country seat, 

Still breaking, but with stamina so steady, 
That all the Israelites are fit to mob its 
Next owner for their double-damn d post-obits. 

cxxvi, 
'Tis sweet to win, no matter how, one's laurels 
By blood or ink ; 't is sweet to put an end 
To strife ; 't is sometimes sweet to have oui 
quarrels, 
Particularly with a tiresome friend: 
Sweet is old wine in bottles, ale in barrels; 
Dear is the helpless creature we defend, 
Against the world ; and dear the schoolboy spot 
We ne'er forget, though there we are forgot. 

CXXVII. 

But sweeter still than this, than these, than all. 
Is first and passionate love — it stands alone, 

Like Adam's recollection of his fall. 

The tree of knowledge has been pluck'a— = 
all s known — 

And life yields nothing further to recall 
Worthy of this ambrosial sin, so shown. 

No doubt in fable, as the unforgiven 

Fire which Prometheus filch'd for us fron; 
heaven. 

CXXVIII. 

Man 's a strange animal, and makes strange usw 
Of his own nature, and the various arts. 

And likes particula-rly to produce 

Seme new experiment to show his parts ; 



DON JUAN. 



f bis is the age of oddities let loose, 

Where different talents find their different 
marts ; [lost your 

You'd best begin with truth, and when you've 
Labour, there 's a sure marlcet for imposture. 

cxxix. 
What opposite discoveries we have seen ! 

(Signs of true genius, and of empty pockets.) 
One makes new noses, one a guillotine. 

One breaks your bones, one sets them in theii 
sockets ; 
But vaccination certainly has been 

A kind antithesis to Congreve's rockets. 
With which the Doctor paid off" an old pox, 
By borrowing a new one from an ox. 

cxxx. 
B read has been made (i nd ifferent) I'rom potatoes ; 

And galvanism has set some corpses grinning, 
But has not answer'd like the apparatus 

Of the Humane Society's beginning. 
By which men are unsutibcated gratis: 

What wondrous new machines have late 
been spinning ! 
t said the small-pox has gone out of late ; 
Perhaps it may be follow'd by the great. 

CXXXl. 

"Tis said the great came from America; 

Perhaps it may set out on its return, — 
The population there so spreads, they say 

T is grown high time to thin it in its turn. 
With war, or plague, or famine, any way, 

So that civilisation they may learn ; 
A.nd which in ravage the more loathsome evil 

is — 
Their real lues, or our pseudo-syphilis ? 

CXXXII. 

This is the patent age of new inventions 
For killing bodies, and for saving souls. 

Ail propagated with the best intentions ; 

Sir Humphry Davy s lantern, by which coals 

Are safely mined for in the mode he mentions, 
Tombuctoo travels, voyages to the Poles 

Are ways to benefit mankind, as true. 

Perhaps, as shooting them at Waterloo. 

CXXXIII. 

SI m 's a phenomenon, one knows not what, 

And wonderful beyond all wondrous measure ; 
r is pity though, in this sublime world, that 
Pleasure 's a sin, and sometimes sin 's a 
pleasure ; 
tew mor'als know what end they would be at, 
But whether glory, power, or love, or treasure, 
'<he path is through perplexing ways, and when 
;ie goal is gaia'd, we die, ■" on know — and 
then 



Ijxxxiv. 

What then ? — I do not know , no more do yoa— 
And so good night. — Return we to oar story 

'Twas in November, when fine days are few 
And the far mountains wax a little hoary. 

And clap a white cape on their mantles blue. 
And the sea dashes round the promontory 

And the loud breaker boUs against the rock, 

And sober suns must set at five o'clock. 



Twas, as the watchmen say, a cloudy night). ■« 
No moon, no stars, the wind was lov/ or loud 

By gusts, and many a spai-kling hearth was 

bright , [crowd; 

With the piled wood, round which the family 

There's something cheerful in that sort of light, 
Even as a summer sky's without a cloud: 

I 'm fond of fire, and crickets, and all that, 

A lobster salad, and champagne, and chat. 



'T was midnight — Donna Julia was in bed, 
Sleeping, most probably, — when at her door 

Arose a clatter might awake the dead, 
If they had never been awoke before. 

And that they have been so we all have read, 
And are to be so, at the least, once more ; — 

The door was fasten'd, but with voice and fist 

First Knocks were heard, then " Madam^ 
Madam — hist ! 

CXXXVII. 

" For God's sake. Madam — Madam — here s 
my master. 

With more than half the city at his back- 
Was ever heard of such a curst disaster! 

' T is not mv fault — I kept good watch— 
Alack!' 
Do pray undo the bolt a little faster — 

They're on the stair just now, and in a crack 
Will ail be here ; perhaps he yet may fly- 
Surely the window 's not so very high ! ", 

CXXXVIII. 

By this time Don Alfonso was arrived. 

With torches, friends, and servants in gi'eat 
number ; 
The major part of them had long been wived 
And therefore paused not to disturb the 
slumber 
Of any wiclced woman, who contrived 

By stealth her husband's temples to en 
cumber- j 

Examples of this kind are so contagious. 
Were one no punish'd. all would be outraireouft 



DON JUAN. 



33] 



CXXXIX. 

I eani lell 1 ow, or why. or what suspicion 
Coukl ent3r into Don Alfonso's head; 

But for a cavalier of his condition 
It surely was exceedingly ill-bred, 

Witliout a word of previous admonition, 
To hold a levee round his lady's bed, 

And summon lackey s, arm'd with tire and s^word, 

To prove himself the thing he most abhorr'd. 

CXL. 

Poor Donna Julia! starting as from sleep, 
(Mind — that 1 do not say — she had not slept) 

Began at once to scream, and yawn, and weep ; 
Her maid Antonia, who was an adept. 

Contrived to fling the bed-clotlies in a heap, 
As ii' she had just now from out them crept; 

I can't tell why she should take all this trouble 

To prove her mistress had been sleeping double. 

CXM. 

But Julia mistress, and Antonia maid, 

Appear'd like two poor harmless v\'omeu, who 

Of goblins, hut still more of men afraid. 
Had thought one man might be deterr'd by 
two. 

And therefore side by side were gently laid^ 
Until the hours of absence should run through, 

A.nd truant husband should return, and say, 

"•' My dear, I was tlie first who came away." 



Now Julia found at length a voice, and cried, 

" In heaven's name, Don Alfonso, what d'ye 

mean ? [died 

Has madness seized you? would that I had 
Ere such a monster's victim I had been ! 

What may this midnight violence betide, 
A sudden fit of drunkenness or spleen ? 

Dai-e.you suspect me, whom the thought would 
kill? [wiU.' 

Search, then, the room ! " — Alfonso said " 1 



He search'd, they search'd, and rummaged 
e-^ery where, [seat, 

Closets and clothes' press, chest andwindow- 
And found much linen, lace, and several pair 
Of stockings, slippers, brushes, combs, com- 
plete, 
With other articles of ladies fair, 

To keep them beautiful, or leave them neat: 

Arras they prick'd and curtains with their 

sworus, [boards. 

And wounded several shutters, and some 



Under the bed they search'd, and there tbej 

found — 
No matter what —it was not that they sought 
They open'd windows, gazing if the ground 
Had signs or footmarks, but the earth said 
nought ; 
And then they stared each others' faces round 
'Tis odd, not one of all these seekers thought 
And seems to me almost a sort of blunder. 
Of looking trt the bed as well as under. 



During this inquisition, Julia's tongue 

Was not asleep — "Yes, search and search,* 
she cried, 

" Insult on insult heap, and wrong on-wTong 
It Was for this that I became a bride ! 

For this m silence I have suffer'd long 
A husband like Alfonso at my side ; 

But now I'll bear no more, nor here leraain. 

If there be law or lawyers, in all Spain. 

cxLvr. 
" Yes, Don Alfonso! husband now no more, 

If ever you indeed deserved the name, 
Is't worthy of your years? — yon. have three- 
score — 

Fifty, or stxty, it is all the same — 
Is 't wise or fitting, causeless to explore 

For facts against a virtuous woman's fame? 
Ungrateful, peijured, barbarous Don Alfonso, 
How dai-e you think youi- lady would go on so? 

CXLVII. 

*' Is it for this I have disdain'd to hold 

The common privileges of my sex? 
That I have chosen a confessor so old 

And deaf, that any other it would vex. 
And never once he has had cause to scold, 

But found my very innocence perj)lex 
So much, he always doubted I was married- 
How sorry you will be when I *ve miscarried 

CXTAIII. 

" Was it for tnis that no Cortejo^S e'er 
I vet have chosen from out the youth oi 
Seville? 

Is it for this, I scarce went any where, 
Except to bull-fights, mass, play, rout, aiW 
revel ? 

Is' it for this, whate'er my suiters were, 

I favour'd none — nay, was amiost uncivil? , 

Is it for this that General Count O'Reilly, 

Who took Algiers 37^ dectiarcs I used \um vileiy? 



332 



DON JUAN. 



CXLIX 

' Did not the Italian Musico Cazzani 
Sing at my heart six months at least in vain? 

Did not his countryman, Count Corniani, 
Call me the only virtuous wife in Spain? 

Were there not also Russians, English, many? 
The Count Strongstroganoff I put in pain, 

And Lord Mount Coffeehouse, the Irish peer, 

Who kill'd himself for love (with wine) last year. 



CLIV. 

" And now, Hidalgo I nowthatyouhaveinrowi 
Doubt upon me, confusi(m over all, 

Pray have the courtesy to make it knowu 
Who is the man you search for? how d'ye 
call [shown— 

Him? what's his lineage? let him but bo 
I hope he "s young and handsome — is he tail* 

Tell me — and be assured, that since you st£iia 

My honour thus, it shall not be in vain 



* Have I not had two bishops at my feet? 

The Duke of Ichar, and Don Fernan Nunez ; 
And is it thus a faithful wife you treat? 

I wonder in what quarter now the moon is : 
f praise your vast forbearance not to beat 

Me also, since the time so opportune is — 
Oh, valiant man ! with sword drawn and cock'd 

trigger. 
Now, tell me, aon't you cut a pretty figure? 



* Was it for this you took your sudden journey. 
Under pretence of business indispensable 

With that sublime of rascals your attorney, 
Whom I see standing there, and looking 
sensible [spurn, he 

Of having play'd the fool? though both I 
Deserves the worst, his conduct's less de- 
fensible, 

Because, no doubt 'twas for his dirty fee. 

And not from any love to you nor me. 



" If ne comes here to take a deposition, 

By all means let the gentleman proceed ; 
Vou've made the apartment in a fit condi- 
tion: — [need — 

There 's pen and ink for you, sir, when you 
Let every thing be noted with precision, 

I woul'dnotyou for nothing should be fee'd — 

But, as my maid's undrest, pray turn your 

spies out." [ej'es out." 

Oh I" sobb'd Anton'a, "I could tear their 



" There is the closet, there the toilet, there 
The dBtechamber — search them under, over; 

There is the sofa, there the great ann-ciiair, 
The chimney — which woiild really hold a 
lover. 

I wish to sleep, and beg you will take care 
And make no further noise, till yo-u discover 

The secret cavern of this lurking treasme — 

4nd when 'tis found, let me, too, have that 
pleasm-e. 



" At least, perhaps, he has not sixty years, 
At that age he would be too old for slaughtw, 

Or for so young a husband's jealous feai-.s— 
(Antonia ! let me have a glass of water.) 

I am ashamed of having shed these tears, 
They are unworth}" of my father's daughterj 

My moiher dream'd not in my natal hour, 

That I should fall into a monster's power*- '\ 

CLVI. 

" Perhaps 'tis of Antonia you are jealous, 
You saw that she was sleeping by my side; 

When you broke in upon us with your fellows: 
Look where you please — we 've nothing, sit, 
to hide; 

Only another time, I trust, you'll tell us, 
Or for the sake of decency abide - , , 

A moment at the door, that we may be 

Drest to receive so much good company. 

CLVII. 

" And now, sir, I have done, and say no more; 

The little I have said maj^ serve to show 
The guileless heai't in silence may grieve o'ef 

The wrongs to whose exposure it is slow:— • 
I leave you to your conscience as before, 

' T will one day ask you whi/ you used me so? 
God grant youfeelnot then the bitterest giief !— * 
Antonia! where 's my pocket-handkerchief ? 

CLVIII. 

She ceased, and turn'd upon her pillow; pale 
She lay, her dark eyes Hashing thi-ough theil 
tears, 

Like skies that rain afid lighten, as a veil, 
Waved and o'ershading her v,an cheek, 
appears [but fail^ 

He streaming hair; the black curls strive, 
To hide the gloss, shoulder, which uprear* 

Its snow through al : — her soft lips lie apart 

And louder than her breathing beats her heart 

CLIX. 

The Senhor Don Alfonso stood confused; 

Antonia bustled round the ransack'tl room 
And. turning up her nose, with looks abused 

Hei master and his royrmidons uf whonDk. 



DON JUAN. 



333 



Not one, except the attorney, was amused; 

He, like Achates, fuitliful to the tomb, 
So there were quaiTels, cared not for the cause, 
Knowing they must be settled by the laws. 

CLX. 

With prying snub-nose, and small eyes, he stood. 
Following Autonia's motions here and tliere, 

With much suspicion in his attitude ; 
For reputations he hud little care ; 

So Uiut a suit or action were made good, 
Small pity had he for the yomig and lair. 

And ne'er believed in negatives, till these 

We"-? proved by competent tidse witnesses 

CI.XI. 

But Don Alfonso stood with do\vncast looks, 
And, truth to say, he made a foolish figure ; 

When, after searching in five hundred nooks. 
And treating a young wile with so much 
rigour, 

He gain'd no point, except some self-rebukes, 
Added to those his lady with such vigour 

Had pour'd upon him for the last half-hour, 

Quick, thick, and heavy — as a thunder-shower. 

CLXIl. 

At first he tried io hammer an excuse, 
To which the sole reply was tears, and sobs, 

And indications of hysterics, whose 
Prologue is always certain throes, and throbs, 

jasps, and whatever else the owners choose : 
Alfonso saw his wife, and thought of Job's ; 

He saw too, in perspective, her relations 

And then he tried to muster all his patience, 

CLXIII. 

He stood in act to speak, or rather stammer. 
But sage Antonia cut him short belore 

The anvil of his speech received the hammer. 

With " Pray, sir, leave the room, and say 

no more, [her," 

Or madam dies." — Alfonso mutter'd, " D — n 
But nothing else, the time of words was o'er; 

He cast a rueful look or two, and did. 

He knew not wherefore, that which h* was bid. 

CLXIT. 

With him retired his " posse comiiaiuis, " 

The attorney last, who linger'd neai- the door 

Reluctantly, still tarrying there as late as 
Antonia let him — not a little sore 

At this most strange and unexplain'd " hiatus" 
In Don Alfonso'sfacts,wnich just now wore 

An awkward look ; as he revolved the case, 

The door was fasten'd in his lep'al face. 



CLXV. 

No soone was it bolted, than — Oh shame ! 

Oh sin. Oh sorrow! and Oh womankind'. 
How can you do such things and keep your fame 
. Unless this world, and t' other too, be blind ? 
Nothing so dear as an unfilch'd good name ! 

But to proceed — for there is more behind : 
With m >ch heanfelt reluctance be it said. 
Young J uan slipp'd, half-smother'd,from the bed 

CLX VI. 

He had been hid — I don't pretend to say 

How, nor can I indeed describe tlie where- 
Young, slender, and pack'd easily, he lay, 

No douct, in little compass, round or square. 
But pity him I neither must nor may 
His suffocation by that pretty pair; 
*T were better, sure, to die so, than be shut 
With maudlin Clarence in his Malmsey butt. 

CLXVII. 

And, secondly, I pity not, because 
He had no business to commit a sin. 

Forbid by heavenly, fined by human laws,^ 
At least 't was rather early to begin ; 

But at sixteen the conscience rarely gnaws 
So much as when we call our old debts in 

At sixty years, and draw the accompts of evil 

And find a deuced balance with the devil. 

CLXVIII 

Of his position I can give no notion; 

'T is written in the Hebrew Chronicle, 
How the physicians, leaving pill and potion 

Prescribed by way of blister, a young belle. 
When Old King David's blood grew dull io 
motion, 

And that the medicine answer'd very well. 
Perhaps 't was in a difi'erent way applied, 
For David hved, but Juan nearly died. 

CLXIX. 

What's to be done ? Alfonso will be back 
The moment he has sent his fools away. 

Antonia's skill was put upon the rack. 

But no device could be brought intoplay- 

And how to pany the renew'd attack ? 
Besides, it wanted but few hours of day : 

Antonia puzzled ; Julia did not speak, 

But press'd her bloodless lip to Juan's cheek. 

CLXX. 

He turn'd his lip to hers, and with his hand 
C all'd back the tangles of her wandering hair • 

E veu then their love they could not all com- 
mand, 
And half forgot their danger and despair. 



•> ^ i 



DON JUAN. 



Antonias patienee now was at a stand- 
Come, come, 't is no time now for fooling 

there," 
She whispei'd, in great wrath—" I must deposit 
This pretty gentleman within the closet : 

CLXXI. 

•Pray, keep your nonsense for some luckier 
night— 

Who can have put my master in this mood? 
What will become on t— I 'm in such a fright. 

The devil 's in the urchin, and no good— ' 
Is thi? a time for giggling? this a plight? 

"\^'hy, don't you know that it may end in 
blood? 
You '11 lose your life, and I shall lose my place, 
My mistress all, for that half-girlish face. 

CLXXII. 

" Had it but been for a stout cavalier 

Of twenty-tlve or thirty— (come, make haste) 

Hut lor a child, what piece of work is here ! 
I really, madam, wonder at your taste — 

(Come, sir, get in)— my master must be near: 
There, for the present, -at theleast,he 'sfast, 

And if we can but till the morning keep 

Our counsel— (Juan, mind,youmubtnot sleep/*' 

CLXXIII. 

Now, Don Alfonso entering, but alone, 
Closed the oration of the trustv maid : 

She loiter'd, and he told her to be gone. 
An order somewhat sullenly obey'd ;' 

However, present remedy was non'e. 
And no great good seem'd answer'd if she 
staid : 

Regarding both with slow and sidelong view 

She snuii d the candle, curtsied, and withdrew! 

CLXXI V. 

Alfonso paused a minute— then begun 
Some strange excuses for his late proceedin-- 

He would not justify what he had done, ° 
To say the best, it was extreme ill-breedinj? 

But there were ample reasons lor it, none 
01 which he specified in this his pleadin<^ 

Ills speech was a fine sample, on tJie whole, 

01 rhetoric, which the learn'd call ''rigmarole. 

CLXXT. 

lidia said nought; though all the while there 
rose 
A ready answer, which at once enables 
A matron, who her husband's foible knows 
By a lew timely words to turn the tables 
Which, It n does not silence, stillmust pose — 
hven d It Should comprise a pack of fables • 
Us to retort with fiimness, and when he 
Su^cts with one. do you re])roach with ihree 



CLXX^T. 

Juha, m fact, had tolerable grounds,— 

Alfonso's loves with Inez were well known 
But « hether 't was that one's own guilt con 
founds — 
Biit that can t be, ae has been often shoAva 
A lady with apologies aoounds ; — 

It might be that her silence sprang alone 
From delicacy to Don Juan's ear. 
To whom she knew his mother's lame was deai. 

cLxxvir. 
There might be one more motive, which makes 
two; 
Alfonzo ne'er to Juan had alluded,— 
Mention'd his jealousy, but never who 

Had been the happ'y lover, he concluded. 
Conceal d amongst his premises ; 'tis true 
His mind the more o'er this its mystew 
brooded ;' 
To speak of Inez now were, one may say, 
Like throwing Juan in Alfonso's way. 

CLXXVIII. 

A hint, in tender cases, is enough ; 

Silence is best, besides there is a lad— 

(That modern phrase appeal's to me sad stuff, 

tx-u-"J ^^ ^^"^^^ serve to keep my verse compactV-1 

Which keeps, when push'd by questions rathei 

rough, 

A lady always distant from the fact : 
Ihe charming creatures lie with such a grace 
Ihere s nothing so becoming to the lace. 

CLXXIX. 

They blush, and we believe them ; at least I 
Have always done so ; 't is of no great use 
In any case, attempting a reply. 

For then their eloquence grows quite profuse: 
And when at length they 're out ol breath, tbei 
sigh, ' 

And cast their languid eyes down, and let 
loose 
A tear or two, and then we make it up • 
And then— and then— and then— sit ' down 
and sup. 

CLXXX. 

Alfonzo closed his speech, and begg'd hei 

VVhich Julia half withheld, and then hal 
And laid conditions he thought verv hard on. 

Denying several little things he wanted : 
He stood like Adam lingering near his ganlen 

With useless penitence perolex'd ana 
haunted, 
Beseeching she no fmther would refuse 
When, lo ! he stumbled o'er a pair of 



DON JUAN. 



335 



CLXXXI. 

4 pair of shoes ! — what then ? not much, if they 
Are such as fit with ladies' feet, but these 

(No one can tell how much I grieve to say) 
Were masculine ; to ste them, and to seize 

Was but a moment's act. — Ah ! well-a-day ! 
My teeth begin to chatter, my veins freeze 

Alfonso first examined well their fashion, 

And then flew out into another passion. 

CLXXXII. 

He left the room for his relinquish'd sword, 
And Julia instant to the closet flew. 

"Fly, Juan, fly! for heaven's sake — not a 
word — 
The door is open — you may yet slip through 

The passage you so often have explored — 
Here is the garden-key — Fly — fly — Adieu! 

Ha«te — haste 1 I hear Alfonso's hurrying feet — 

Day has not broke — Uiere's no one in the 
street." 

CLXXXIII. 

None can say that this was not good advice, 
The only mischief was, it came too late; 

Of all experience 'lis the usual price, 
A son of income-tax laid on by fate : 

Juan had reach'd the room-door in a ti'ice, 
And might have done so by the garden-gate, 

But met Alfonso in his dressing-gown. 

Who threaten'd death — so Juan knock'd him 
' ■ • down 

CLXXXIV. 

Dire was the scuffle, and out went the light ; 

Antoniacriedout" Rape! "and Julia" Fire! '* 
but not a servant stirr'd to aid the fight. 

Alfonso, pommell'd to his heart's desire, 
Swore lustily he'd be revenged this night; 

And Juan, too, blasphemed an octave higher ; 
His blood was up : though young,he was a Tartar, 
And not at all disposed to prove a martyr. 

CLXXXV. 

Alfonso's sword had diopp'd erehe could draw it, 
And they continued battling hand to hand. 

For Juan very luckily ne'er saw it ; 

His temper not being under great command, 

If at that moment he had chanced to claw it, 
Alff-iso's days had not been in the land 

M uchionger. — Think ofhusbands', ]o^ ers' lives ' 

And how ye may be doubly widows — wives ! 

CLXXXVI. 

Alfonso grappled to detain the foe, 
And Juan throttled him to get away, 

And blood ('twas from the nose) began to flow ; 
At last, as they more faintly wrestling lay, 



Juan contrived to give an awlrward blow. 

And then his only gannent quite gave way 
He fled, like Joseph, leaving if, but there, 
I doubt, all likeness ends between the pair. 

CLXXXVII. 

Lights came at length, and men, and maids 
who found 

An awkward spectacle their eyes before ; 
Antonia in hysterics, Julia swoon'd, 

Alfonso leaning, breathless, by the door ; 
Some half-torn drapery scatter'd on the ground, 

Some blood, and several footsteps, but nc 
more: 
Juan the gate gain'd, tuiTi'd the key about, 
And liking not the inside, lock'd the out, 

CLXXXVIII. 

Here ends this canto. — Need I sing, or say. 
How Juan, naked, favour'd by the night, 

Who favours ^^•hat she should not, found h?s 
way, 
And reach'd his home in an unseemly pligh: ? 

The pleasant scandal which arose next day. 
The nine days* wonder which was brouj,;j| 
to light, 

And how Alfonso sued for a divorce, 

Were in the English newspapers, of course. 

CLXXXIX. 

If you would like to see the whole proceedings, 
The depositions, and the cac^e at full, 

The names of all the witnesses, the pleadings 
Of counsel to nonsuit, or to annul. 

There's more than one edition, and the readings 
Are various, but they none of them are dull: 

The best is that in shoit-hand ta'en by Gurney. 

Who to Madrid on purpose made a jomney. 

cxc. 

But Donna Inez, to divert the train 
Of one of the most circulating scandals 

That had for centuries been known in Spain, 
At least since the retirement of the Vandals, 

First vow'd (and never had she vow'd in vain, 
To Virgin Mary several pounds of candles : 

And then, by the advice of some old ladies, 

She sent her son to be shipp'd ofl'from Cadiz. 



She had resolved that he should travel through 
All European climes, by land or sea, 

To mend his fonner morals, and get new, 
E.specially in France and Italy, 

(At least this is the thing most people do.) 
Julia was sent into a convent : she 

Grieved, but, perhaps, her feelings may be betta 

Shown in the following copy of her Letter :- 



336 



POlsr JUAN. 



cxcu. 

** They tell me 'tis decided ; you depart : 
'T is wise — 't is well, but not the less a pain ; 

I have no further claim on your young heart, 
Mine is the victim, and would be again; 

To love too much has been the only art 
I used ; — I write in haste, and if a stain 

Be on this sheet, 'tis not what it appears; 

My eyeballs bum and throb, but have no tears. 

CXCIII, 

•* I loved, I love you, for this love have lost 

State, station, heaven, mankind s, my own 
esteem. 
And yet can not regret what it hath cost, 

So dear is still the memory of that dream ; 
Yet, if I name my guilt, 't is not to boast. 

None can deem harshlier of me than I deem : 
I (race this scrawl because I cannot rest — 
I 've nothing to reproach, or to request. 

cxciv. 
" Man's love is of man's life a thing apart, 

'T is woman's whole existence ; man may 

range [mart. 

The court, camp, church, the vessel, and the 

Sword, gown, gain, glory, offer in exchange 
Pride, fame, ambition, to fill up his heart, 

And few there are whom these can not 
estrange ; 
Men have all these resources, we but one. 
To love again, and be again undone. 

cxcv. 
* You will proceed in pleasure, and in pride. 

Beloved and loving many ; all is o'er 
For me on eaith, except some years to hide 

My shame and sorrow deep in my heait's 
core ! 
These I could bear, but cannot cast aside 

The passion which stUl rages as before, — 
And so farewell — forgive me, love me — No, 
That word is idle now — but let it go. 

cxcvi. 
" My breast has been all weakness, is so yet ; 

But still I think I can collect my mind ; 
My blood still rushes where my spirit 's set. 

As roll the waves before the settled wind ; 
My hsart is feminine, nor can forget — 

To all, except one image, madly blind; 
So shakes the needle, and so stands the pole, 
As vibrates my fond heart to my fix'd soul. 

cxcvii. 
" I have no more to say. but linger still. 

And dare not set my seal upon this sheet. 
And yet I may as well the task fulfil, 

My misery can scaice be more complete ; 



I had not lived till now, could sorrow kill; 
Death shuns the wretch who fain the bleu 
would meet, 
And I must even survive this last adieu. 
And bear with life, to love and pray for you!" 

CXCVIII. 

This note was written upon gilt-edged paper 
With a neat little crow-quill, slight and newj 

Her small white hand could hardly reach tha 
taper, 
It trembled as magnetic needles do, 

And yet she did not let one tear escape her ; 
The seal a sunflower: " E lie vous suit par- 
toutP» 

The motto cut upon a white cornelian ; 

The wax was superfine, its hue vennilion. 

CXCIX. 

This was Don Juan's eai-hest scrape ; bal 
whether 
I shall proceed with his adventures is 
Dependent on the public altogether; 

We '11 see however, what they say to this, 
Their favour in an author's cap 's a feather, 
And no great mischief's done by theil 
caprice ; 
And if their approbation we experience, 
Perhaps they '11 have some more about a year 
hence. 

cc. 
My poem 's epic, and is meant to be 

Divided in twelve books ; each book con- 
taining. 
With love, and war, a heavy gale at sea, 
A list of ships, and captains, and kinga 
reigning. 
New characters ; the episodes are three : 

A panoramic view of bell 's in training, 
After the style of Virgil and of Homer, 
So that my name of Epic 's no misnomer. 

cci. 

All these things will be specified in time, 
With strict regard to Aristotle's rules, 

The Vaie Mecum of the true sublime, 
Which makes so many poets, and some foola 

Prose poets like blank-verse, I 'm fond of rhyme, 
Good workmen never quarrel with their tools, 

I 've got new mythological machinery. 

And very handsome supernatural sceneiy. 



There 's only one slight difierence between 
Me and my epic brethren gone before, 

And here the advantage is my own, I ween) 
(Not that I have not several merits m<He, 



DON JUAN. 



337 



But tliis will more peculiarly be seen) ; 

They so embellish, that 't is quite a bore 
Tlieir labyrinth of tables to thr.atl through, 
Whereas Uiis story 's actually true. 

CCIII. 

If any person doubt it, I appeal 
To history, tradition, and to facts. 

To newspapers, whose truth all know and feel, 
To plays in five, and operas in thi-ee acts ; 

All these confinn my statement a good deal. 
But th:;t which more completely I'aith exacts 

Is, that myself, and several now in Seville, 

Saw Juan's last elopement with the devil. 

cciv. 
If ever I should condescend to prose, 

I '11 write pottical coumiandments, which 
Shall supersede beyond all doubt all those 

That went before ; in these 1 shall enrich 
My text with many things that no one knows. 

And cany precept to the highest pitch: 
1 11 call the work " Longinus o'er a Bottle, 
Or, Every Poet his own Ai'istotle." 



Thou shalt believe in Milton, Dryden, Pope , 
Thou shalt not set up Wordsworth, Cole- 
ridge, Southey ; 
Because the first is craz.ed beyond all hope, 
The second drunk, the third so quaifit and 
mouthy ; 
With Crabbe it may be difiacult to cope, 
And Campbell's Hippocrene is somewhat 
drouthy : 
Thou shalt not steal from Samuel Rogers, nor 
Commit — flirtation with the muse of Moore. 



Thou shalt not covet Mr. Sotheby's Muse, 
His Pegasus, nor any thing tliat's his; 

Thou shalt not beai- false witness hke '• the 
Blues "— 
(There's one, at least, is verj' fond of this); 

Thou shalt not write, in short, but what I choose : 
This is Jue criticism, and you may kiss — 

E iactly as you please, or not, — the rod ; 

Bu* if you don't, I'll lay it on, by G — di 

CCVII. 

If any person should presume to assert 
This story is not moral, first, I pray. 

That they will not cry out before they 're huil, 
Then that they'll reatl it o'er again, and say, 

(But, doubtless, nobody will be so pert,) 
That this is not a moral tale, though gay 

Besides, in Canto Twelfth, I mean to show 

The verjr place where wicked people go 

23 



CCTIII. 

If, after all, there should be some so blind 

To their own good this warning to dcspi»a 
^ ed by some lortuosiiy of mintl. 

Not to believe my verse and their own eyee 
And cry that they " the moral cannot find," 

I tell him, if a clergyman, he lies; 
Should explains the remark, or critics, mak». 
They also lie too— under a mistake. 

ccix. 
The public approbation I expect. 

And beg they'll take my word about tiM 

moral, 

WTiich I w ith their amusement will connect 

(So children cutting teeth receive a coral); 

Meantime they '11 doubtless please to recolle«| 

My epical pretensions to the laurel: 
For i'ear some prudish readers should groir 
skittish, [British. 

I've bribed my grandmother's review — tfa« 



I sent it in a letter to the Editor, 

Who thank'd me duly by return of post— 

I'm for a handsome article his creditor; 
Yet, if my gentle Muse he please to roast. 

And break a promise after having made it her^ 
Denying the receipt of what it cost. 

And smear his page -with gall instead of honey, 

AH I can say is — that he had the money. 



I thinlc that with th\s holy new alliance 
I may ensure the public, and defy 

All other magazines of art or science, 
Daily, or monthly, or three monthly; I 

Have not essay'd to multiply their clients 
Because they tell me 'twere in vain to try, 

And that the Edinburgh Review and Quarterly 

Treat a dissenting author very mai-tyrly 

CCXII. 

' Non ego hoc ferrem calida juventa 
Cousule Fla7ico," Horace said, and so 

Say I; by which quotation there is meant a 
Hint that some six or seven good years ago 

(Long ere 1 dreamt of dating from the Brenta.' 
I was most ready to retin-n a blow, 

And \\ould not brook at all this sort of thing 

In my hot jouth — when George the Third 
was King. 

CCXIII. 

But now at •.hirty years my hai'* *s grey — 
(I wonder what it will be like at forty? 
thought of a peruke the other day — ) 
My heart is n( t much greener ; and, in short, I 

7. 



338 



DON JUAN. 



Have squander'd ray wliole summer while 

'twas May, 
And ''op] no more the spint to retort; I 
Ha\e sj-ciu my life, botli interest and pnncipal, 
Ajid dei.m not, what 1 deem'd, Uij soul invin- 

cioic. 



loj- this men wiite, speak, preach, andheroei 

kill, [night taper,' 

And bards burn what they call their " mid 

To have, when the original is dust, 

A name, a wretched picture, and x^■o)•se bust. 



No more — uo more — Oh! never more on me 
The freshness of the heart can fall like dew, 

\Miich out of all the lovely things we see 
Extracts emotions beautiful and new. 

Hived in our bosoms like the bag o' the bee, 
Think'st thou the honey with those objects 
gi-ew? 

Alas! 'twas not in them, but in thy power 

To double even the sweetness of a flower. 

ccxv. 
No more — no more — Oh! never more, my 
heart. 
Canst thou be my sole world, my universe ; 
Once all in all, but now a thing apart. 

Thou canst not be my blessing or my curse: 
The illusion's gone for ever, and thou art 
Insensible. I trust, but none the worse. 
And in thy stead I've got a deal of judgment 
Though heaven knows how it ever found a 
lodgment. 

CCXVI. 

My days of love are over ; me no more 
The charms of maid, wife, and still less of 
widow, 

Can make the fool of which they made before, — 
In short, I must not lead the life I did do ; 

The credulous hope of mutual minds is o'er. 
The copious use of claret is forbid too. 

So for a good oid-ge.n«Jemanly vice, 

I think I must take up with avarice. 

CCXVII. 

Ambition was my idol, which was broken 
Before the shnnes of Sorrow, and of Pleasure ; 

And the two last have left me many a token, 
O'er which reflection may be made at leisure 

Now, like Friar Bacon's brazen head, I've 

spoken, [chymtc treasure 

" Time is, Time was, Time's past 39: " — a 

1? glittering youth, which I have spent be- 
times — 

My heait in passion, and my head on rhymes. 

ccxviir. 
What is tJie end of Fame? lis but to fill 

A certain portion of uncertain paper: 
Some liken it to climbing up a hill, 

Whose suzmnil, like all bills, is lost in Taponr ; 



What are the hopes of man ? Old E gypt's Kin j 
Cheops ereeted the first pyramid 

And largest, thinking it was just the thing 
To keep his memorj' whole, cUid mummy hid ; 

But somebody or other rummaging 
Burglariously broke his cofiin's lid; 

Let not a monument give you or me hopes. 

Since not a pinch of dust remains of Cheops. 

ccxx. 

But I being tond of true philosophy, 
Say very often to myself, " Alas I 
All things that have been born were bom to die 
And flesh (which Death mows down to hay 
is grass; 
You've pass'd your youth not so unpleasanttj 
And if you had it o'er again — 'twould pass- 
So thank your stars that matters are no worse 
And read your Bible, sir, and mind yom- purse. 

ccxxi. 
But for the present, gentle reader! and 

Still gentler purchaser ! the bard — that 's I — 
Must, with permission, shake you b}^ the hand, 

And so your humble servant, and good-b'ye. 
We meet again, if we should understand 

Each other; and if not, I shall not try 
Your patience furtlier than by this short 

sample — 
'Twere well if others foUow'd my example. 

ccxxir. 
" Go, little book, from this my solitude! 

I cast thee on the waters — go thy ways! 
And if, as I believe, thy vein be good, 

The world will find thee after many day^.* 
When Southey 's read, and Wordsw^oilh under 
stood, 

1 can't help putting in my claim to praise- 
The four first rhymes are Southey's every line 
For God s sake, reader I take them not formin* 



DON JUAN. 



Bon 2Juan. 



OANTO THE SBCOND.' 



H ye! •who teach the ingenious youth of 
nations, [Spain, 

Holland, France, England, Germany, or 
I pray ye flog them upon all occasions, 

It mends their morals, never mind the pain: 
The best of mothers and ot" educations 

In Juan's case were but employ'd in vain, 
SincCj in a way that's rather of the oddest, he 
Becamje divested of his native modesty. 

II. 
Had he out been placed at a public school, 

In the third form, or even in tlie fourth. 
His daily task had kept his fancy cool, 

At least, had he been nurtured in the north ; 
Spain may prove an exception to the rule, 

But then exceptions always prove its worth — 
A lad of sixteen causing a divorce 
Puzzled his tutors very much, of course. 

III. 

I can't say that it puzzles me at all. 

If all things be consider'd: first, there was 

His lady-mother, mathematical, 

A never mind ; — his tutor, an old ass ; 

A pretty woman — (that's quite natural, 
Or else the thing had hardly come to pass) 

A husband rather old, not much in unity 

With his young wife — a time and opportunity 

IV. 

Well — well, the world must turn upon its axis, 
And all mankind tarn with it, heads or tails. 

And live and die, make love and pay our taxes, 
And as the veering wind shifts, shift our sails; 

Ihi king commands us,and the doctor quacks us, 
The priest instructs, and so our life exhales, 

A little breath, love, wine, ambition, fame, 

Fighting, devotion, dust, — perhaps a name. 



An Arab horse, a stately stag, a barb 
New broke, a cameleopard, a gazelle, 

No — none of these will do ; — and then thei< 
garb ! 
Their veil and petticoat — Alas ! to dwell 

Upon such things would veiy near absorb 
A canto — then their feet and ankles, — well. 

Thank Heaven I've got no metaphor quite ready 

(And so, my sober Muse — come, let 's b 
steady — 



Chaste Muse! — well, if you must, you must) — 
the veil [hand 

Thrown back a moment with the glancing 
While the o'ei-poweringeye, that turns you palf 

Flashes into the heart: — All sunny lani 
Of love ! when I forget yuu, may I tail 

To say n.y prayers — but never wns there 

plann'd [vohoy 

A dress through which the eyes givo such 
Excepting the Venetian FazziolL*' 

VIII. 

But to our tale : the Donna Inez sent 
Her son to Cadiz only to enibark; 

To stay there had not answer'd her intent. 
But why ? — we leave the reader in the dark— 

'T was for a voyage that the young man waa 
meant. 
As if a Spanish ship were Noah's ark. 

To wean him from the wickedness of earth, 

And send him like a dove of promise forth. 



Don Juan bade his vaUt pack his things 
According to direction, then received 

A lecture and some money : for four springs 
He was to travel ; and though Inez grieved 

(As every kind of parting has its stings). 
She hoped he would improve — perhaps b« 
lieved: 

A letter, too, she gave (he never read it) 

Of good advice — and two or three of credit. 



ml said, that Juan had been sent to Cadiz — 
A pretty town, I recollect it well — 
T is there the mart of the colonial trade is, 

(Or was, before Peru learn'd to rebel,) 
A nd such sweet girls — I mean, such graceful 
ladies, [swell ; 

Their very walk would make your bosom 
I can't describe it, though so much it strike, 
a or liktta i*—- 1 neTer saw the like : 



In the mean time, to r)ass her hours away, 
Brave Inez now sel up a Sunday school 

For naughty children, who voiild rather p 
(Like trrnnt rogues) the devil, or the fool; 

Infants of three years old were taugtit that da* 
Dunces were whipl, or set upon a »to"l 

The great success of Juan's education. 

Spurr'd her to teach another generatio* 



340 



DON J tJAJSr. 



Juan embaik'd — the ship goL under way. 
The wind was fair, tlie water passing rough; 

A devil of a sea rolls in that bay, 

As I, who 've cross'd it oft, know well enough ; 

£nd standing upon the deck, the aasning spray 
Flies in one'sface, and makes it weather-tough: 

And there he stood to take, and take again, 

His first — perhaps his last — fai-ewell of Spain. 



r can t but say it is an awkward sight 
To see one's native land receding through 

The growing waters ; it unmans one quite, 
Especially when life is rather new: 

! recollect Great Britain's coast looks while. 
But almost every other country *s blue, 

When gazing on them, mystified by distance, 

We enter on our nautical existence. 



So Juan stood, bewilder'd on the deck : 
The wind sung, cofdage strain'd, and sailors 
swore. 

And the ship creak'd, the towm became a speck. 
From which away so fair and fast they bore 

The best of remedies is a beef-steak 

Against sea-sickness'*2 ; try it, sir, before 

Vou sneei', and I assure you this is true. 

For I have found it answer — so may you. 



Don Juan stood, and, gazing from the stem, 
Beheld his native Spain receding far: 

First partings form a lesson hard to learn, 
Even nations feel this when they go to war; 

There is a sort of unexprest concern, 

A kind of shock that sets one's heart ajar: 

At leaving even the most unpleasant people 

And places, one keeps looking at the steeple 



But Juan had got many things to leave 
His mother, and a mistress, and no wife, 

So that he had much better cause to grieve, 
Than many persons more advanced in life^ 

And if we now and then a sigh must heave 
At quitting even those we quit in strife. 

No doubt we weep for those the heart endears— 

That is, till deeper griefs congea: our tears. 



So Juan wept, as wept the captive Jews 
By Babel's waters, still remembering Sion: 

I'd weep— but mine is not a weeping Muse, 
A nd su 3h light griefs are not a thing to die on • 



Young men should travel, it out to airmsc 
Themselves ; and the next time their servants 
tie on 
Behind their carriages their new portmanteau, 
Perhaps it may be lined with this my canto. 

XVII. 

Antl Juan wept, and much hegigii'd and thought, 
While his salt tears dropp'd into the salt sea, 

" Sweets to the sweet;" (I like so much to 

quote ; [she, 

You must excuse this extract, — 't is where 

The Queen of Denmark, for Ophelia brought 
Flowers to the grave :) and, sobbing often, he 

Reflected on his present situation, 

And seriously resolved on refomiation. 

XVIII, 

" Farewell, my Spain ! along farewell !" he cried , 
" Perbaps I may revisit thee no more. 

But die, as many an exiled heart hath died. 
Of its owni thirst to see again thy shore : . 

Farewell, where Guadalquivir's waters glide . 
Farewell, my mother I and, since all is o'er 

Farewell, too, dearest Julia ! — (here he drew 

Her letter out again, and read it through.) 

XIX. 

" And oh ! if e cr I should forget, I swear — ■ 
But that's impossible, and cannot be •— 

Sooner shall this blue ocean melt to air, 
Sooner shall earth resolve itself to sea, 

Than I resign thine image, oh, my fair I 
Or think of any thing excepting thee ; 

A mind diseased no remedy can physic — 

(Here the ship gave a lurch, and he £frew sea- 
sick.) 

XX. 

" Sooner shall heaven kiss earth — (he.-e he feli 
sicker) 

Oh. Julia ! what is every other woe? — 
(For God's sake, let me have a glass of liquor; 

Pedro, Battista, help me down below.) 
Julia, my love! — (you rascal, Pedro, quicker)— 

Oh Julia ! — (this curst vessel pitches so) — 
Beloved Julia, hear me still beseeching ! " 
(Here he grew inarticulate with retching.) 

XXI. 

He felt that chilling heaviness of heart. 

Or rather stomach, which, alas ! attends, 
Beyond the best apothecary's art. 

The loss of love, the treachery of friends, 
Or death of those we dote on. when a part 

Of us dies with them as each fond hopeeuda 
No doubt he would have been much more pa 

thetic, 
But 4iie sea acted as a stiong emetic. 



DON JUAN, 



341 



XXII. 

Lote's a capricious power: I 've known it hold 

Out lliicugh a fever caused by its own heat, 
But be nujch puzxled by a cough and cold, 

And dnd a quinsy very hard to treat; 
Against all noble maladies he's bold, 

But vulgar illnes.5es don't like to meet, 
Nor that a sneeze should interrupt his sigh, 
Nor iuriamiuatious redden his blind eye. 

xxm. 
But worst of all is nausea, or a pain 

About the lower region o!' the bowels ; 
Love, who heroically breathes a vein, 

Shrinks I'roin the application of hot towels, 
Ajid purgatives are dangerous to his reign, 

Sea-sickness death: his love was perfect, 
how else 
Could Juan s passion, while the billows roar, 
llesJst bis stomach, ne'er at sea before? 

XXIV. 

The ship, caird the most holy " Trinidada," 
Was steering duly for the port Leghorn ; 

For ttiere the Spanish family Moncada 

Were settled long ere Juan's sire was born • 

They were relalio)is, and for them he had a 
Letter of iulroducti&n, which the morn 

Of his departure had been sent him by 

His Spanish friends for those in Italy. 

XXV. 

His suite consisted of three servants and 

A tutor the licentiaie Pedvilio, 
Who several languages did understand. 

But now lay sick and speechless on his 
pillow, 
And, rocirtng in his hammock, long'd for land. 

His headach being iuci'eased by every billow; 
And the waves oozing through the portrhole 

made 
£Iis berth a little damp, and him afraid. 

XXVI. 

T was not without some reason, for the wind 
Increased at night, until it blew a gale ; 
ud though 't was not much to a naval mind, 
Some landsmen would have iook'd a little 
pale, 
For sailors are, in fact, a different kind : 

At sunset they began to take in sail. 
For tiie sky show'-l it would come on to blow. 
And carry away, perhaps, a mast or so. 

XXVII. 

At one o'clock the wind with sudden shift 
Threw tlie ship right into the trough of the 
sea, [I'ift, 

Whi<;h struck her aft, and made an awkward 
Siaritd the stcm-post, also shalter'd the 



Whole of her stem-frame, and . ero she could li ft 

Herself from out her pri«eut jeopaidy, 
The rudder tore away: 'twas time to sound 
The pumps, and there wer >, four feel ^^•s^Ut 
lound 

XXVIII. 
One gang of people instantly was put 

Upon the pumps, and the remainder set 
To get up part of the cargo, ani what not; 

But they could not come at the leak as jjtj 
At last they did get at it really, but 

Stili their salvation was an even bet : 
The water rush'd through in a way quit» 
puzzling, [of rausliu 

While they tlirust sheets, shirts, jackets, bales 

XXIX. 

Into the opening ; but all such ingredients 
Would have been vain, and they must hav* 
gone down. 
Despite of all their efforts and expedients. 
But for the pumps ; I 'm glad to make them 
known [hence. 

To all the brother tars who may have need 

For fifty tons of water were upthrown 
By them per hour, and they had all been uiv 

done. 
But for the maker, Mr. Mann, of London 

XXX. 

As day advanced the weather seom'd to abat^ 
And then the leak they reckon'd to reduce, 

Ajid keep the ship afloat, though three feet yd 
Kept two hand and one chain-pump still ia 
use. 

The wind blew fresh again : as it grew late 
A squall came on, and while some guu« 
broke loose, [cends — • 

A gust — which all descriptive power trans- 

La'd with one blast the ship on her beam en da. 

XXXI. 

There she lay, motionless, and seem'd upset, 
The water left the hold, and wash'd the decks, 

And made a scene men do not soon foigrt; 
For they remember battles, fires, and wrecks. 

Or any other thing thai brings regret, 

Or breaks their hopes, or heaits, or heads, 
or necks: [diveri, 

Thus drownings are much tallc'd of by lh« 

And swimmers, who may chance to be sur- 
vivors. 

XXXII. 

.Immediately the masts were cut away, 

Both main and mizen ; rirst the mizen went 

The main-mast follow'd : but the ship still U| 
l^lae a laerc io)^ and bafUcd our 



342 



D(M JUAN 



7oremast and bowsprit were cut down, and 

they 

Eased her at last (although wc never meant 

To part w ith aJl till every hope was blighted), 

\nd then with violence the old ship righted. 

XXXIIl. 

t may be easily supposed, while this 

Was going on, some people were unquiet, 
That passengers would find it much amiss 

To lose their lives, as well as spoil their diet ; 
That even the able seaman, deeming his 
: iiavs neai-ly o'er, might be disposed to riot, 
As upon such occasions tai's will ask 
For grog, and sometimes drink rum from the 
cask. 

XXXIV. 

There s nought, no doubt, so much the spirit 
cairns 
As mm and true religion : thus it was, 
Some plunder'd, some drank spirits, some sung 
psalms, ■ 
The high wind made the treble, and as bass 
The hoarse harsh waves kept lime ; fright cured 
the qualms 
Of all the luckless landsmen's sea-sick maws: 
Strange sounds of wailing, blasphemy,devotion, 
Clainourd in chorus to the roaiing ocean. 

XXXV. 

I'erhaps more mischief had been done, but for 
Our Juan, who, with sense beyond his years, 

Got to the spirit-room, and stood before 
It with a pair of pistols ; and iheir fears. 

As if Death were more dreadful by his dcmr 
Of fire than water, spite of oaths and tears, 

Kept still aloof ihe crew, who, ere they sunk, 

I'hought it would be becoming to die drunk, 

XXX VI. 

** Give us more grog," they cried, " for it will be 
All CMie ar hour hence." Juan answer'd 
•'Nol 

T is time that death awaits both you and me, 
But let us die like men, not sink below 

Like brutes :" — ana thus his dangerous post 
kept he. 
And none liked to anticipate the blow ; 

And even Pedrillo, his most reverend tutor, 

Was for some rum a disappointed suitor. 

xxxvii. 
The good old gentleman was quite aghast, 

And made a loud and pious lamentation ; 
Repented all his sins, and made a last 

Irrevoeabk vow of reformation : 



Nothing should tempi him mare (this peril pMl^ 

To quit his academic occirpation. 
In cloisters of the classic Salamanca. 
To follow Juan's wake, like Sancbo Panca. 

XXXVIII, 

But now there came a flash of hope once mora; 

Day broke, and tJie wind lull d : the must* 

were gone, [shore, 

The leak increased ; shoals round her, but n** 

The vessel swam, yet still she held hex own 

They tried the pumps again, and though before 

Their desperate efforts seem'd ail useless 

grown, 

A glimpse of sunshine set some hands to bale-^ 

The stronger pump'd, the weaker thrumm'd a 

sail. 

XXX nw. 
Under the vessels keel the sail was past, 

And for the moment it had some effect; 
But with a leak, and not a stick of mast, 

Nor rag of canvass, what could they expect 
But still 't is best to struggle to the last, 

'T is never too late to be wholly wreck\i: 
And though 'l is true that man can only die 

once, 
'T is not so pleasant in the Gulf of Lyons. 



There winds and waves had hurl'd them, ai d 
fr?m thence. 

Without their will, they carried them away. 
For they were forced with steering to dispense, 

And never had as yet a quiet day 
On which they might repose,or even commence 

A jurymast or rudder, or could say 
The ship would swim an hour, which, by good 

luck. 
Still swam — though not exactly like a duck. 



The wind, in fact, perhaps, was rather less, 
But the ship labour'd so, they scarce could 
hope 

To weather out much longer ; the distress 
Was also gieat with which they had to cope 

For want of m ater, and their solid mess 
Was scant enough: in vain the: telescope 

Was used — nor sail nor shore appear'd in sight. 

Nought but the heavy sea, and coming night. 



Again the weather threateii'd, — aguin blew 
A gale, and in the fore and after hold 

Water appear'd ; yet, though the people knev 
All this, the most were patient, and soma 
bold. 



DON JUAN. 



34: 



Fnli'i the chains an< leathers were worn through 
Of all our puipps : — a wreck complete she 
loll d, 
\l mercy of the wares, who^e mercies are 
Like hutuan beings during civil war. 

XLiri. 

rhi;n came the carpenter, at last, with tears 
la his rou3;h e\'es. and told the captain, he 

Could do no more : he was a man in years. 
And long had voyaged thruugh many a 
stormy sea. 

And if he wept at length, they were not fears 
That made his eyelids as a woman's be, 

Hut he, poor fellow, had a w ife and children,— 

Two tilings for dying people quite bewildering. 

XLIV. 

The ship was evidently settling now 

Fast by the head ; and, all distinction gone, 

Some went to prayers again, and made a vow 
Of candles to their saints — but there wer« 
none 

To pay them with ; and some look'd o'er the bow ; 
Some hoisted out the boats; and there was one 

That begg'd Pedrillo for an absolution, 

Who told him to be damn'd — in his confusion 



Some lash'd them in their hammocks ; some 
put on 

Their best clothes, as if going to a fair ; 
Sjinne cursed the day on which they saw the sun, 
^^nd gnash'd their teeth, and, howling, tore 

their hair; 
And others went on as they had begun. 

Getting the boats out, being well aware, 
That a tight boat will live in a rougli sea, 
Unless with breakers close beneath her lee. 



The worst of all was, that in their condition. 
Having been several days.in great distress, 

'T was difficult to get out such provision 
A snow might render their long suffering less : 

VIen, even when dying, dislike inanition ; 
Their stock was damaged by the weather's 
stress: 

Two casks of biscuit, and a keg of butter, 

vVero all that could be thrown into the cutter. 

XLVIT. 

But in thd long-boat they contrived to stow 
Some pounds of biead, though injured by 
the wet ; 

Water, a twenty-gallon cask or so ; 
Six flasks of wine ; and they contrived to set 



A portion of their beef up from lolow. 

And with a piece of p.irk, moreover met 
But scarce enough to serve them for a lur 
cheon — ^cheon 

Then there was rum, eigb' gallons .u a pun 

XLViil. 

The other boats, the yawl and pinnate, had 
Been stove in the beginning of the gale ; 

And the long-boat s condition was but bad. 
As there were but two blankets for a sail, 

And one oar for a mast, which a young lad 
Threw in by good luck over the ship's rail 

And two boats could not hold, far less be stored. 

To save one half the people then ou board. 

XLIX. 

'T was twilight, and the sunless day went down 
Over the waste of waters ; like a veil. 

Which, if withdrawn, would bat disclose the 
frown 
Of one whose hate is mask'd but to assail. 

Thus to their hopeless eyes the night was shown. 
And grimly darkled o'er the faces pale, 

And the dim desolate deep : twelve days had Fear 

Been their familiar, and now Death was here. 

L. 

Some trial had been making at a raft. 
With little hope in such a rolling sea, 

A sortof thing at whichonewould have laugh'd. 
If any laughter at such times could be, 

Unless with people who too much have quaff" d. 
And have a kind of wild and horrid gie**, 

Half epileptical, and half hysterical : — 

Their preservation would have been a miracle. 

LI. 

At half-past eighto'c]ock,booms,hencoops,spars. 
And all things, for a chance, had been cast 
loose. 

That still could keep afloat the stnigding tars. 
For yet hey strove, although of no great w^v. : 

There was no light in heaven but a few star>. 
The boats put off o'ercrowded with their 
crews ; 

She gave a heel, and then a lurch to port. 

And, going down head foremost —sunk, in shi^rt. 

LII. 

Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewell- 
Then shriek'd the timid, and stood still th« 
brave — 

Then some leap'd overboard with dreadful yell, 
As eager to anticipate their grave ; 

And the sea yawn'd anund hei like a hell, 
And down she suck'd with her the whirling 
wave. 

Like one who grapples with his enemy. 

And strive? ta strangle iim before h« die 



344 



DON JUAN. 



till. 

And first one universal shriek there rush'd. 

Louder than the )oud ocean, like a crash 
Of echoing thunder; and then all was hush'd. 

Save liie wild wind and the remorseless dash 
Of billows ; but at intervals there gush'd, 

Accompanied with a convulsive splash, 
A solitary shriek, the bubbling cry 
Of some strprig_ swimmer in his agony. 



■J'he boats, as stated, had got off before, 

, " And in them crowded several of the crew; 

Xnd yet their present hope was hardly more 

Than what it had been, for so strong it blew. 
There was slight chance of reaching any shore ; 

And then they were too raany,though so few — 
Nine in the cutter, thirty in the boat, 
Were couiited in them when they got afloat. 



A.\\ the rest perish'd ; near two hundred souls 
Had lefttheirbodies; and what's worse, alasl 

Wht;n over Catholics the ocean rolls, 

They must wait several weeks belbrc a mass 

Talces off one peck of purgatorial coals, 

Because, till people know what's come to pass, 

They wont lay out their money on the dead — 

it costs thi-ee francs for every mass that 's said. 

LVI. 

Jtuai- got into the long-boat, and there 
Contrived to help Pedrillo to a place ; 

It seem'd as if they had exchanged their care. 
For Juan wore the magisterial face 

Which courage gives, while poor Pedrillo'spair 
Of eyes were crying for their owner's case : 

B iitisla, though, (a name call'd shortly Tila) 

Was lost by getting at some aqua-vita. 



Knowing, (dogs have such intellectual noMs! 

No doubt, the vessel was about to smlc : 
And Juan caught him up, and ere lie stepp'd 
Off, threw him in, then a'ter him he leap'd. 

MX. 

He also stu ff'd his money where he could 
About his person, and Pedrillo's too. 

Who let him do, in fact, whate'er he would. 
Not knowing what himself to say, or do, 

As every rising wave his dread renew'd; 
But Juan, trusting they mightstillgetthrough, 

And deeming there were remedies for any ill. 

Thus re-embark'd his tutor and his spaniel. ^ 

LX. 

'T was a rough night, and blew so stiffly yet. 

That the sail was becalm'd between the 

seas, [set, 

Tliough on the wave's high top too much to 

They dared not take it in for all tlie breeze 

Each sea curl'd o'er the stem, and kept them 

wet. [ease, 

And made them bale without a moment's 

So that themselves as well as hopes wer« 

damp'd. 
And the poor little cutter quicldy swamp'd 

LXI. 

Nine souls more went in her: the 1ong-bo» 
still 

Kept above water, with an oar for mast, 
Two blankets stitch'd together, answering il] 

Instead of sail, were to the oar made fast; 
Though every wave roll'd menacing to fill. 

And present peril all before surpass'd, 
fhey giieved lor those who perish'd with the 

cutter. 
And also for the biscuit-casks and butter. 



Pfjdro, his valet, too, he tried to save, 

But the same cause, conducive to his loss, 

Left him so dnink, he jump'd into the wave. 
As er the cutter's edge he tried to cross. 

And so he found a wine-and-watery grave ; 
They could not rescue him although so close, 

Because the sea ran higher every minute, 

And for the boat — the crew kept crowding in it. 

Lvm. 
A small old spaniel, — which had been Don 
Jose's, [think. 

His father's, whom he loved, as ye may 
For on such things the memory reposes 
With tenderness — stoo«i howling on the 
brink. 



The sun rose red and fiery, a sure sign 
Of the continuance of the gale : to run 

Before the sea until it should gi-ov>' fine, 
Was all that for the present could be done. 

A few tea-spoonfuls of their rum and wine 
Were served out to the people, who begun 

To faint, and damaged bread wet through the 
bags. 

And most of them had little c'oihcsbut rags. 

LXIII. 

They counted thirty, crowded in a space 
Which left scarce room for motion or exer- 
tion ; 
They did their best to modify their case. 
One half sate up, though niimb'd wiUi (ht 
iinmerson. 



DON JFAN. 



345 



ViriiUc f aititr half were laid down in their 

place, 
At A'atch and walch ; thus, shivering like 

the terlian 
Asue in its cold fit, they fill'd their boat, 
With nothing but the sky lor a great coat. 

LXIV. 

T is very certain the desire of life 

I'rolonics it: this is obvious to physicians, 

When patients, neither plagued with friends 
Hor wife. 
Survive through very desperate conditions, 

because they still can hope, nor shines the 
knife 
Nor shears of Atropos before their visions : 

Despair of all recovery spoils longevity, . 

And makes men's miseries of alarming brevity, 

LXV. 

T is said that persons living on annuities 
Are longer lived than others, — God knows 
why, 

Unless to plague the grantors, — yet so true it is, 
That some, I really think, do never die: 

Of any creditors the worst a Jew it is. 

And that 's their mode of furnishing supply: 

In my young days they lent me cash that way. 

Which I Ibimd very troublesome to pay. 

LXV I. 

T is thus with people in an open boat, 
They live upon the love of life, and bear 

More than can be believed, or even thought, 
And stand like rocks the tempest's wear and 
tear; 

And hardship still has been the sailor's lot. 
Since Noah's ai'k went cruising here and 
there ; 

She had a curious crew as well as cargo, 

Like the first old Greek privateer, the Argo. 

LXVII. 

Bat man is a carnivorous production, [day; 

And must have meals, at least one meal a 
He cannot live, like woodcocks, upon suction, 

But, like the shark and tiger, must have prey ; 
Although his anatomical construction 

Bears vegetables, in a grumbling way, 
."our labouring people think beyond all ques- 
tion, 
Beef, veal, and mutton, better for digestion. 

IXVIII. 

And thus it was with this our hapless crew ; 

For on the third day there came on a calm. 
And though at first their strength it might 
renew. 

And lying on their weariness like balm 



Lull'd them like turtles sleeping on the bhie 

Of ocean, when they woke they felt a qualm 
And fell all ravenously on their provision, 
Instead of hoaixling it with due precision 



The consequence was easily foreseen — 
They ate up all they had, and drank their 
^ine. 
In spite of all remonstrances, and then 

On what, in fact, next day were they to dirie? 

They hoped the wind would rise; these foolish 

men ! [fi»e 

And cairy them to shore; these hopes were 

But as they had but one oar, and that brittle, 

It would have been more wise to save theii 

victual. 

LXX. 

The fourth day came, but not a breath of air 
And Ocean slumber'd like an unwean'c 
child ; 
The fifth day, and their boat lay floating there 
The sea and sky were blue, and clear, and 
mild — 
With their one oar (I wish they had had a pair 
What could they do? and hunger's rage 
grew wild : 
So Juan's spaniel, spite of his entreating, 
Waskill'd, audportion'd out for piesent eating. 



On the sixth day they fed upon his hide. 
And Juan, who Laii stiil refiRed, because 

The creature was his father's dog that died 
Now feeling all the vulture in his jaws, 

With some remorse received (though first de 
nied) 
As a great favour one of the fore-paws. 

Which he divided with Pedrillo, who 

Devour'd it, longing for the other too. 



The seventh day, and no wind — the burning 
sun [sea. 

Blister'd and scorch'd, and, stagnant on the 
They lay like carcasses; and hope was none. 
Save in the breeze that came not; savagelj 
They glared upon each other — all was done, 
Water, and \» ine, and food, — and you might 
see 
The longings of the cannibal arise 
(Although they spoke not) in their wolfisk 
eye5> 



346 



DON JUAN. 



LXXIII. 

4t length one whisper'd his companion, who 
Whisper'd another, and thus it went round. 

And then into a hoarser murmur grew, 

An ominous, and wild, and despeiate sound ; 

And when his comrade's thought eaeli sutJerer 

knew, [he found: 

'T vPtts but his own, siippress'd till now. 

And out they spoke of lots for flesh and Wood, 

And who should die to be his feliowS food. 

LXXIV. 

But ere they came to this, they that day shared. 

Some leathern caps, and what remain'd of 
shoes ; 
And then they look'd around them, and de- 
spair'd, 

And none to be the sacrifice would choose; 
At length the lots were torn up, and prepared, 

But ofmaterials that much shock the Muse — 
Having no paper, lor the want of belter. 
They took by force from Juan Julia's letter. 

LXXV. 

The lots weie made, ami mark'd, and mix'd, 
and handed. 

In silent horror, and their distribution 
LuU'd even thesavagehunger wuich demanded, 

Like the Promethean vulture, this pollution; 
None in particular had sought or })]ann'd it, 

"f was nature gnaw'd them to this resolution, 
By which none were permitted to be neuter— 
And the lot fell on Juan's luckless tutor. 

LXXVI. 

He but requested to be bled to death • 

The surgeon had his instruments, and bled 

Pedriilo, and so gently ebb d his breath, 
You hardly could perceive when he vfs 
dead. 

tl3 died as born, a Catholic in faith, 
Like most in the belief in which they 're 
bred. 

And first a little crucifix he kiss'd. 

And then held out his jugular and wrist. 

LXXVII. 

The surgeon, as there was no other fee. 
Had liis fii>t choice of morsels for hispairs; 

But being thirstie.M at the moment, he 

Prclerr'd a draught from the fast-flowing 
veins: 

Part •" a* Mvided, part thrown in the sea, 
And sucn things as the entrails and the 
brains Inllow — 

R**galed two sharks, who follow d o'er the 

Toe saJlort ate tl-". rest of poor Pediillo. 



Lxxnii. 

The sailors ate him, all save three or for.r, 
Who were not tpiite so fond of animal *bod 

To these was added Juan, who, before 
Refusing his own spaniel, hardly could 

Feel now his appetite increased much more; 
'T was not to be expected that he should 

Even in extremity of their disastw, 

Dine with them on his pastor and his master 

LXXIX. 

T\vas better that he did not; for, in fact, 
Tiie consequence was awful in the extreme, 

For they, who were most ravenous in the act 

Went raging mad — Lord ! how they did 

blaspheme ! [rack'd, 

An<l foam and roll, with strange convulsions 
Drinking salt-water like a mountain stream, 

Tearing, and grinning, howling, screeching 
swearing. 

And, with hyajna-laughter. died despairing. 

LXXX. 

Their num.bers were much thinn'd by this in 
fliction, [knows 

And all the rest were thin enough, Heavec 
And some of them had lost their recollection, 

Happier than they who still perceived theil 
woes. 
But others ponder'd on a new dissection, 

As if not warn'd sufficiently by those 
Who had already perish'd, suflering madly, 
For- having used their appetites so sadly. 

LXXXI. 

And next they thought upon the master's mate, 

A« fattest ; but he saved himself, because, 
Besitles being much avei-se fi-om such a fate, 

There were some other reasons : the first was 
He had been rather indisposed of late : 

And that which chiefly proved his savin" 
clause. 
Was a small present made to him at Cadiz, 
By general subscription of the ladies. 

Lxxxri. 
Of poor Pedriilo something still remain'd, 

But was used sparingly, — some v,'ere afrail, 
And others still their ajipetites constrain'd^ 

Or but at times a little supper made ; 
All except Juan, who throughout abstain'd^ 

Chewing a piece of bamboo, and some lead 
At length they caught twoboobies, and anotidy 
And then they left oft' eating the dead body. 

IXXXIII. 

And if Pedrillo's f^te should shocking be, 
Remember Ugolino condescends 

To eat the head of his arch-enemy 
The moment aftei- he politely endt 



DON JUAN. 



347 



His tale : if foes be food in hell, at sea 

'T is surely lair to dine upon our friends, 
When shipwreck's short allowance grows too 

sciuity, 
Withouibeingmuch more horrible than Dante. 



Aid the same 'night there fell a showei of rain, 
For which their mouths gaped, like the 
cracks of earth [pain, 

Wlien dri^d to summer dust; till taught by 
Men really know not what good water 's 
worth ; 
If you had been in Turkey or in Spain, 
Or with a famish'd boat's-crew had your 
berth, 
Or in the desert heard the camel's bell, [well. 
Y'ou "d wish yourself where Truth is — in a 

LXXXV. 

It pour'd down torrents, but they were no 
richer 
Until they found a ragged piece of sheet. 
Which served them as a son of spongy pitcher, 
And when they deem'd its moisture was 
complete, 
Thev WTung it out, and though a thirsty ditcher 
Might not have thought the scanty draught 
so sweet 
As a full pot of porter, to their thinking 
They ne'er till now had known the joys of 
drinking. 

LXXXVI. 

And thei r baked lips, with many a bloody crack, 

Suck'd in the moisture, which like nectar 

stream d; [were black. 

Their throats were ovens, their swoln tongues 
Asthe rich man's in hell, who vainly scream'd 

'''o beg the beggar, wiio could not rain back 
A drop of dew, when every drop had seemed 

To taste of heaven — If this be true, indeed, 

Some Christians have a comfortable creed. 

r.xxxvii. 
There were two fathers in this ghastly crew. 
And with them their two sons, of whom the 
one 
Was more robust and hardy to the view, 

But he died early ; and when he was gone. 
His nearest messmate told his sire, who threw 
One glance at him, and said, " Heaven's will 
be done I 
I oan «i() nothing," and ne saw him thrown 
Into the deep without a tear or gioan. 



LXXX.TIII. 

The other father had a weaklier child. 
Of a soft cheek, and aspect delicate : 

But the boy bore up long, and with a mild 
And patient spirit held alooi' his fate ; 

Little he said, and now and then he smiled, 
As if to win a part from oti' the weight 

He saw increasing on his father's heart. 

With the deep deadly thought, that tliey mil* 
part. 



And o'er him bent his sire, and never raised 
H is eyes from off his face, but wiped the foam 

From his pale lips, and ever on him gaztd, 
And when the wisn a-for shower at length 
was come, [glazed, 

4nd the boy's eyes, which the dull film halj 
Brighten'd,andforamomentseem'd to roam. 

He squeezed from out a lag some drops of rain 

Into his dying child's mouth — but in vain. 

xc. 

The boy expired — the father held the clay. 
And look'd upon it long, and when at last 

Death left no doubt, and the dead burthen lay 
Still" on his heart, and pulse and hope were 
past. 

He watcli'd it wistfully, until away 

'T was borne by the rude Avave wherein 
't was cast ; [shivering, 

Then he himself sunk down all dumb and 

And gave no sign of life, save his limbs quivering 



Now overhead a rainbow, bursting through 
The scattering clouds, shone, spanning the 
dark sea. 

Resting its t^rignt base on the quivering blue; 
And ail within ts arch ajn^eard to be 

Clearer than that without, and its wide hue 
Wax'd broad and waving, like a banner free. 

Then changed like to a bow that's bent, and then 

Forsook the dim eyes of these shipwreckdmeni 

xcri. 

It changed, of 'ourse ; a heavenly cameleon, 
The airy child of vapour and the sun. 

Brought forth in purple, cradhd in vemiilion. 
Baptized in molten gold, and swathed in dun, 

Glittering like crescents o'er a Turk's pavilion, 

And blending every colour into one, 
ust like a black eye in a recent scuffle 

For sometimes we must bo's without tlwrn-'ifflo* 



348 



DON JUAN. 



XCIIJ. 

Our shipwreck'd seamen thought It a good 
omen — 

It is as well to think so, now and then ; 
T was an old custom of the Greek and Roman, 

And may become of great advantage when 
Folks are discouraged ; and most surely no men 

Had greate- need to nerve themselves again 
Than these, and so this rainbow look'd like 

hope — 
Quite a celestial kaleidoscope. 

xciv. 
About this time a beautiful white bird, 

Webfooted, not unlike a d()ve in size 
And plumage (])robal>ly it might have err'd 

Upon its course), pass'd oft before their eyes. 
And tried to perch, although it saw and heard 

The men within the boat, and in this guise 
It came and went, and flutter'd round them till 
Night fell : — this seem'd a better omen slid. 



But in this case T also must remark, 

'T was well this bird of promise did not perch, 

Because the tackle of our shaller'd bark 
Was not. so sale for roosting as a church; 

And had it been tlie dove from Noah's ark, 
Returning there from her successful search. 

Which in their way that moment chanced to fall, 

They would have eat her, olive-branch and ail.' 

xcvi. 
With twilight it again came on to blow, 

But not with violence ; the stars shone out, 

The boat made way ; yet now they were so low, 

They knew not where nor what they were 

about; ["No!" 

Some fancied they saw land, and some said 

The frequent fog-banks gave them cause to 

doubt — Lj?""s, 

Some swore (hat they heard breakers, others 

And all mistook about the latter once 

XCTII 

As morning broke, tlie light wind died away, 
When he who had "iie watch sung out and 
swore. 

If twas not land that rose with the sun's ray, 
Hewi.sh'dihailandhe never might see more; 

And the rest rubb'd their eyes and saw a bay, 
Or thought they saw, and shaped iheir course 
for shoie ; 

For shore ii was, and gradually grew 

Distinct, and high, and palpable U) view 



xcvin. 
And then of these some part burst into .cars, 

And others, looking with a stupid stare, 
Could not yet separate their hopes from fears 

And seem'd as if they had no fuilher care, 
While a few pra\'d — (the first time for some 
years; — 

And at the bottom of the boat three were 
Asleep : they shook them by thehand and head, 
And uied to awaken them, but fi.vund them dead 



The day before, fast sleeping on the water, 
They Ibund a turtle of the hawk's-biU kuid 

And by good I'oitune, gliding softly, caught hor. 
\^'hich yielded a day's life, and to their mltK* 

Proved even still a more nutritious matter, 
Because it ielt encouragement behind 

They thought that in sr.ch perils, more thai' 
chance 

Had sent them this for their delivei'auc^ 

7 ■wii xtrJ vsriT 
c. . ^ 

The land appear'd a high and rocky coast, 
Andhighergrew the mountains as theydrew 

Set by a cuirent, toward it: they were lost 
In various conjectures, for none knew 

To Avhat part of the earth they had been tost 
So changeable had been the winds thatblew , 

Some thought it was Mount ^Etna, some the 
highlands 

Of Candia, Cyprus, Rhodes, or other island*" 



Meantime the current, witt a rising gale. 
Still set them onwards to the welcome shore. 

Like Charon's bark of spectres, dull and paJe : 
Their living freight-was now reduced to four 

And three dead, whom their strength could no. 
avail 
To heave into the deep w'tli those before, ;^ 

Though the two sharks still follow'd them, and 
dash'd 

The spray into their faces as they splash'd. 

CII. 

Famine, despair, cold, thirst, and heat, had 
done Lthem to 

Their wuik on them by turns, and thinn'd 
Such things a mother had not known her son 

Amidst the skeletons of that gaunt crew; .vi 
By night chill'd, by day scorch'd, thus one by'.> 
one 

They perish'd, until wilher'd to tl.e ^e few, 
Bui chiefly by a species of self-slaughter. 
In washing down redrillo with sal', wateb 



DON JUAN. 



349 



As they drew nigh the land , wh'ch now was see. 

Unequal in its aspect here and there, 
They felt the freshness of its gi-owing green, 

That waved in forest-tops, and smooth'd thv, 
air, 
Ind fell upon their glazed eyes like a screen 

From glistening waves, and skies so hot and 
bare — 
i:,ov3ly seem'd any object that should sweep 
Away the vast, salt, dread, eternal deep. 

CIV. 

rht shore look'd wild, without a trace of man. 

And girt by formidable waves; but they 
Were mad for land, and thus their course they 
ran, 

Though right ahead the roaring breakers lay : 
A reef between them also now began 

To show its boiling surf and bounding spray. 
But finding no place for their landing belter, 
They ran the boat for shore, — and overset her. 

cv. 
But in his native stream, the Guadalquivir, 

Juan to lave his youthful limbs was wont; 
And having learnt to- swim hi that sweet river, 

Had often turn'd the art to some account: 
A better s-Aimmer you could scarce see ever. 

He could.perhaps.have pass'd the Hellespont, 
As once (a leat on which ourselves we prided) 
Leander, Mr. Ekenhead. and I did. 

cvi. 
So here, though faint, emaciated, and stark, 

Hebuoydhis boyish limbs, and strove to ply 
With tiie quick wave, and gain, ere it was dark, 

The bea.-h whichlay before him,high and dry : 
Tlie greatest danger here was from a shark. 

That carried off his neighbour by the thigh ; 
.\s for li'ie other two, they could not swim, 
S") nobody arrived on shore hut him 

cvii. 
Nor yet had he arrived but for the oar, 

Which, providentially for him, was wash'd 
Jusi as his feeble anns rould strike no more. 

And the hard wa\e >'erwhelmed him as 
't was dash'd 
Within his grasp; he clung t) it, and sore 

The waters beat while he thereto was lash'd ; 
Af last, with swimming, wtulmg, scrambling, he 
£U)ii^ d on the bcai-h, half-senseless, from the sea : 

cviii. 
There.brcHthless, with hisdiggingnailshe clung 

Fast to the sand, lest the returning wave. 
From whose reluctant roar his life he wrung. 

Should suck him back to her insatiate grave: 



And there he lay, full length, where he was filing. 

Before the entrance of a cliff-worn cave, 
"With just enough of life to feel its pain, 
And deem that it was saved, perhaps in vain 

cix. 
With slow and staggering effort he arose. 

But sunk again upon his bleeding knee 
And quivering hand; and then he look'd for thos* 

Who long had been his mates upon the sea; 
But none of them appear'd lo share his woes 

Save one,a corpse, from out the famish'n three. 
Who died t\\ o clays before, ana now had fouua 
An unknown barren beach for burial grouad. 

ex. 

And as he gazed, his dizzy brain spun fast. 
And down he sunk ; and as he sunk, the sand 

Swam round andround.and all his senses pass'd : 
He fell upon his side, and his slretch'd hano 

Droop'd dripping on the oar (their jury-mast), 
And, like a wither d lily, on the land 

His slender frame and pallid aspect lay 

As fair a thing as e'er was form d of clay. 

CXI. 

How long in this damp trance young Juan lav 
He knew not, for the earth was gone Ua 
him, 

And Time had nothing more of night nor day 
For his congealing blood, and senses dira ; 

Ajid how this heavy faintness pass'd away 
He knewnot,till each painful pulse and liml» 

And tingling vein, seem'd thvobbingbackto life 

For Death, though vanquish'd, still retired wiii 
strife. 

CXII. 

His eyes he open'd, shut, again unclosed. 
For all was doubt and dizziness; hethough' 

He still was in the boat, and had but dozed. 
And felt again with his despair o'erwnnmiit 

And wish'd it death in which lie had repo.>cii, 
And then once more his feelings back wer« 
brought. 

And slowly by his swimming eyes was seen 

A lovely female face of seventeen. 

CXIII. 

T was bending close o'er his, and the sraal 
mouth 

Seem'd almost prying into his for breath; 
And chafing him, the soft warm hand of youth 

Recall'd his answering spirits back frone 
death ; 
And, bathing his chill temples, tried to soolhf 

Each pulse to animation, till beneath 
Its gentle touch and trembling care, a sigK 
To these kind efforts made a low replj. 



350 



DON JUAN. 



Then was tn^ cordial poiir'a and mantle flung 

Around his scarce-clad limns ; and the fair 

arm [hung; 

Raised higher the faint head which o'er it 

And her transparent cheek, all pure and 

warm, [wrung 

Pillow'd his death-like forehead; then she 

His dewv curls, long drench'd by every 

«t,orm; [di'ew 

And watch il with eagerness each throb that 

A sigh from his heaved bosom — and hers, too. 

And lifting him with care into the cave, 
Thi; gemle girl, and her attendant, — one 

Young, yet her elder, and of brow less gi-ave. 
And more robust of figure, — then begun 

To' kindle fire, and as the new flames gave 
Light to the rocks that roof "d them, which 
the sun 

Had never seen, the maid, or whatsoe'er 

She was, apoear'd distinct, and tall, and fair. 

CXVI. 

Her brow was overhung with coins of gold, 
That sparkled o'er the auburn of her hair. 
Her clustering hair, whose longer locks were 
roil'd . Lwere 

In braids behind ; and though her stature 
Even of the highest for a female mould, 
They nearly reach'd her heel ; and in her 
'air [maud, 

There was a something which bespoke cora- 
As one who was a lady in the land 

cxvit. 
Her hair. I said, was auburn ; but her eyes 
Were black as death, their lashes the same 
hue. 
Of dov^ncast length, in whose silk shadow lies 

Deepest attraction ; for when to the view 

Forth from its raven fringe the full glance flies. 

Ne'er with such force the swiftest arrow 

flew; [length, 

T is as the snake late coiVd, who pours his 

And hurls at oni;e his venom and his strenrgth. 

cxvin. 
Hir brow was white and low, her cheek *^s 
pure dye 
Like twilight rosy still with the set sun ; 
•Short upper lip — sweet lips ! that make us 
sigh 
E ver to have seen such ; for she was one 
f'it for the model of a siatuaiy, 

(A race of mere impostors, when all's done— 
* ve seeti much finer women, ripe and real, 
■"^han all the nonsense of their stone ideal). 



CXTX. 

I '11 tell you why I say so, f^r 't is just 
One should not rail without a decent 
There was an Irish lady, to whose bust 

I ne'er saw justice done, and yet she was 
A frequent model ; and if e'er she must 
Yield to stem Time and Natures wrinkling 
laws, 
They will destroy a face which mortal thoug'ft 
Ne'er compass'd, nor less mortal chisel wrougtit 

cxx. 
And such was she, the lady of the jave : 
Her dress was very different from tha 
Spanish, 
Simpler, and yet of colours not so grave ; 
For, as you know, the Spanish women ba- 
nisli [wav8' 

Bright hues when out of doors, and yet, whil« 
Around them (what I hope will never vanisjp 
The basquina and the mantilla, they 
Seem at the same time mystical and gay. 

•cxxi. 
But with our damsel this was not the case 

Her dress was many-coloured, finely spim 
Her locks curl'd negligently roimd her face, 
But through them gold and gems profusely 
shone : 
Her girrlle sparkled, and the richest lace 
Flow'd in her veil, and many a preciou* 
stone ' [shocking, 

Flash'd on her little hand ; but, what was 
Her small snow feet had slippers, but no 
stocking. 

CXXII 

The other female's dress was not unlike, 

But of inferior materials: she 
Had not so many ornaments to strike. 

Her hair had silver only, bound to be 
Her dowry ; and her veil, in form alike. 

Was coarser : and her air, though firm, less 
free ; 
Her hair was thicker, but less long; her eya 
As black, but quicker, and of smaller size. 

CXXIII. 

And these two tended him, and cheerd '«!« 

both [attention*. 

With food and raiment, and those soft 

Which are— (as I must own)— of femak 

growth. 

And have ten thousand delicate inveutioiu: 

Thev made a most superior mess of broth, 

a' thing which poesy but seldom mention*, 
But the best dish that e'er was cook'd siue* 

__.;^ Homer's ._ -:: •..;>-■.-.:.■!. -^i 

Achilles order d dinner for new cimen 



DON JUAN. 



35J" 



CXXIV, 

i 11 «•• you who they were, this female pair, 

Le-^tthey shoulii .seem princesses in disguise ; 
Besides, 1 hate all mystery, and that air 

Of clap-iiap, which your recent poets prize, 
And so, in short, the girls they really were 

They shall appear Ix-'fore your curious eyes, 
Mistress and maid ; the first was only daught^ir 
01" an old man, who lived upon the water. 

cxxv. 
A fisherman he had been in his youth. 

And still a sort of fisherman was he; 
But other speculations were, in sooth, 

Added to his connection with the sea, 
Perhaps not so respectable, in truth : 

A little smuggling, and some piracy, 
Left him, at last, the sole of many mastere 
Of an ill-gotten million of piastres. 

cxxvi. 
A fisher, therefore, was he, — though of men, 

Like Peter the Apostle, — -.and he fish'd 
For wandering merchant-vessels, now and 
then, [wihh'd ; 

And sometimes caught as many as he 
The cargoes he confisc uted, and gain 

He sought in the slave-market too, and 
dish'd 
Full many a morsel for that Turkish 'rade, 
Bj which, no doubt, a good deal maybe iradc, 

CXXVI I. 

He was a Greek, and on his isle had built 
(One of the wild and smaller Cyclades) 

A very handsome house from out his guilt. 
And there he lived exceedingly at case ; 

Heaven knows what cash ho got or blood he 
spilt, 
A sad old fellow was he, if you please ; 

But this I know, it was a spacious building. 

Full of barbaric carving, paint, and gilding. 

CXXVIII. 

He had an only daughter, call'd Haidee, 
The greatest heiress of the Eastern Isles; 

Besides, so very beautiful was she, 

Her dowry was as nothing to he* smiles: 

Still in her teens, and like a lovely i,ree, 
She grew to womanhood, and between whiles 

Rejected several suitors, just to learn 

How to accept a better in l^s turn. 

CXXIX. 

And walking out upon the beach, below 
The clit}', towards sunset, on that day she 
found, 

Insensible, — not dead, but nearly so, — 
I »n:i Juan .almost lamish'd. and halfdrownM; 



But being naked, she was shoes a.jon know 

Yet deem i herself in common pity bound 
As lar as in her lay, " to take him in, 
A suangei" dying, with so white a skin. 

cxxx. 

Ihn taking him into her fai.her's house 

Was not exactly the best way to save, 
But like conveying to the cat the mouse,. 

Or people in a irauce into their grave , 
Because the good old man had so much "«•», 

Unlike the honest Arab thieves so brave, 
He would have hospitably cured the strangct 
And sold him instantly when out of danger. 

cxxxi. 
And therefore, withhermaid.shethonghtitbeat 

(A virgin a-hvays on her maid relies) 
To place him in the cave Ur present rest : 

And when, at last, he open'd his black eyes 
Their charity increased about their guo'St;" 

And their compassion grew to such a size, 
It open'd half the turnpike-gales to heaven — 
(St. Paul says, 'tis the toll which must be given., 

CXXXII. 

They made a fire, — but such a fire as they 
Upon tlic moment could contrive witli such 

.Materials as were cast up round the bay, — 
Soraebjokenplanks,and oars, that to the touch 

Were nearly .tinder, since so long they lay 
A ma;>t was almost crumbled to a crutch ; 

But, by Gud's grace, here wrecks were in sucn 
plenty, 

That there was fuel to have furnish 'd twenty. 

CXXXIIl. 

He had a brd of lurs, and a pelisse, 

For Haidee stripp'd her sal)les oti"to make 

His couch ; and, that he might be more at rase, 
And warni, in case by chance he slumld 
awake. 

They also gave a petticoat apiece. 

She and her maid, — and promised by ilay 
break 

To pay him a f>f«»h visit, with a dish 

For breakfast, of oggs, collee, bread, and nsh 

rxxxiv. 
And thus they left him to his lone repose 

Juan slept like a top, or like the dead, 
Who sleep at last, periiaps (God only knows; 

Just for the prceent ; and in his luli'd head 
Not even a vision of his fonner woes 

Throbb'd in accurseil dreams, which some 
times spread 
Unwelcome visions of our former years 
TillthSeyie, cheated, opens thick with ie«« 



^52 



DOJ^ rUA% 



cxxxy. 7 

Voung Juan s-ept all dreamless ; — but the 
maid, 

Who siaooth'd his pillow, as she left the den 
Look'd back upon him, and a moment stay'd, 

And lurn'd, believing thai he call'd again. 
.He slumber'd; yet she thought, at least she 
said [ind pen), 

(The heart will slip, even as thf tongue 
Ke hud })rononnced her name — but she forgot 
That at this moment Juan knew it not. 

CXXXVI. 

And p^'^We'^tbher faiher's house she went, 
Eiijoining silence strict to Zoe, who 

Better than her knew what, in fact, she meant, 
She being wi^er by a year or two : 

A. year or two 's an age when rightly spent, 
And Zoe spent hers, as most women do. 

In gaining all thai useful sort of knowledge," 

Which is acquired in Nature's good old college. 

CXXXVII. 

The mom broke, and found Juan slumbering 
still 

Fast in his cave, and nothing clash'd upon 
His rest ; the rushing of the neighbouring rill. 

And the young beams of the excluded sun. 
Troubled hira not, and he might sleep his fill; 

And need he had of slumber yet, for none 
Had suri'er'd more — his hardships were com- 
parative [tive."-*3 
To those related in my grand-dad's "Narra- 

CXXSVIII. 

Not so Haidee : she sadly toss'd and tumbled,' 
And started from her sleep, and, turning o'er, 

Dreara'd of a thousand wrecks, o'er which she 
stumbled, 
And handsome coi-pses strew' d upon the shore; 

And woke her maid so eariy that she grumbled, 

Aiid call'd her father's old slaves up, who 

swore [Greek— 

In several oaths — Annenian, Turk, and 

They knew not what to think of such a freak. 

CXXXIX. 

But up she got, and up she made them get. 
With souie pretence about the sun, that 
makes 

S A'eet skies just when he rises, or is set ; 
And 't is, no doubt, a sight to see when 
breaks [wet 

Bright Ph(Bl)us, while the mountains still are 
With mist, and every bird with hira awakes, 

And night is tiung off like a mourning suit 

Wcra for a husband, — or some other bruter 



I say, the sun is a most glorious sight, , 
I 've seen him rise full oft, indeed of laie 

I have sat up on purpose all the night, 

Which hastens, as physicians say, one's fata; 

And so all ye, who would be in the right 
In health and purse-*-*, begin your day t« 
date [score: 

From daybreak, and when coffin'd at foup 

Engrave upon the plate, /ou rose at four.** 

CXLI. 

And Haidee met the morning face to face ; 

Her own was freshest, though a I'everish 

flush [race 

Had dyed it witlithe headlong blood, whos« 

From heart to cheek is curb'd into a blush, 
Like to a torrent which a mountain's base, '; 

That overpowers some Alpine river's rush, 
Checks to a lake, whose waves in circles spread; 
Or the Ked Sea — but the sea is not red.46 



And down the cliff the island virgin came, 
And near the cave her quick light footsteps 
drew, [tlame, 

While the sun smiled on her with his first 
And young Aurora kiss'd her lips wiihdew, 

Taking her lor a sister; just the same [two, 
Mistake you would have made on seeing the 

Although the mortal, quite as fresh and fair. 

Had all the advantage, too, of not being air 

CXLIII. 

And when into the cavern Haidee stepp'd 
All timidly, yet rapidly, she saw 

That like an infant Juan sweetly slept; 

And then she stopp'd, and stood as if in awe 

(For sleep is awful), and on tiptoe crept 

And wrapt him closer, Isst the air, too raw, 

Should reach his blood, then o'er him still a« 
death [drawn breath 

Bent, with hush'd lips, that drunk his scaj'ce 



And thus like to an angel o'er the dying 
Who die in righteousness, she lean'd ; and 
there 

All tranquilly the shipwreck'd boy was lying. 
As o'er him lay the calm and stirless air: 

But Zoe the meantime some eggs was frying^ 
Since, after all, no doubt the youthful pair 

Must breakfast, and betimes — lest they should 
ask it, 

She disew out her provision from the basket 



DOK^ JUAN. 



U3 



CXLV. 

Siw Itne-.r that the best feelings must hare 
victual, [giTbe; 

Arid that a shipwreck'd youth trouki huu- 
BeHMtes, being less iu love, she yawn'd a little. 
And fell her veins chill'd by the neighbour- 
ing sea ; 
Aad so, she cook'd their breakfast to a tittle ; 

,1 can't say that she gave them any tea, 
But there were eggs, fruit, coffee, bread, fish, 

honey, 
A'ith Scio wine, — and ail for love, not money. 

i, CXLVI. 

*^nd Zee, when the eggs were ready, and 
''■■' The coffee made, would fain have waken'd 
Juii". , [hand. 

But Haidee stopp'd her with her quick small 
And withotit word, a sign her finger drew on 
Her lip, which Zoe needs must understand ; 
And, ti»e first breakfast spoilt, prepared a 
new one, 
Because her mistress would not let her break 
That sleep which seem'd as it would neer 
awake. ;i*<> •**» ov 

CXLVIU 

«'For still he lay, and on his thin worn cheek 
■" A purple hectic play'd like dying day 
On the snow-tops of distant hills ; the streak 

Of sufferance yet upon his forehead lay, 

Where the blue veins look'd shadowy, shrunk, 

and weak ; f spray. 

And his black curls were dewy with the 

Which weigh'd upon them yet, all damp and 

salt, 
Mix d with the stony vapours of the vault. 

CXLVIU. 

And she bent o'er him, and he lay beneath, 
Hush'd as the babe upon its mother's breast, 

Droop'd as the willow when no winds can 
breathe, 
Lull'd like the depth of ocean when at rest. 

Fjir as the crowning rose of the vi-hole wreath. 
Soft as the callow cygnet in its nest ; 

(h saort, he was a very pretty fellow, 

A„;<:ough his woes hud turn'd him rather 
yellow. 

CXLIX. 

He woke and gazed, and would have slept 
again, [bade 

But the fair face which met his eyes for- 
Tfeiose eyea to close, though wea.riness and pain 

i&ad further sleep a further pleasure made ; 



For woman's face was never form'd m vain 

For Juan, so that even when he pray'd 
He turn'd from grisly saints, and martyrs hairy 
To the sweet ponruits of ;he Vi)gin Mary. 

CL. 

And thus upon his elbow he aroie. 

And look'd \ipon the lady, in whosp clieek 
The pale contended with the purple rose, 

As with an effort she began to speak ; [j^ 
Her ey<!S were eloquent, her words would po 

Although she told him, in good modeii 
Greek, 
With an Ionian accent, low and sweet. 
That he was faint, and must not talk, bat eat 

CLI 

Now^ Juan could not understand a word, 
Being no Grecian ; but he had an ear. 

And her voice was the warble of a bird. 
So soft, so sweet, so delicately clear, 

That finer, simpler music ne'er was heard ; 
The sort of sound we echo with a tear, 

Without knowing why — an ovei-powerington« 

Whence Melody descends as from a throne 

CLIT. 

And Juan gazed as one who is awoke 
By a distant organ, doubting if he be 

Not yet a dreamer, till the spell is broke 
By the watchman, or some such reality, 

Or by one's early valet's cursed knock :' 
At least it is a heavy sound to me. 

Who like a morning slumber — for the night 

Shows stai-s and women in a better light. 

CLIII. 

And Juan, too, was help'd out from his dream, 
Or sleep, or whatsoe'er it was. by feeling 

A most prodigious appetite : the steam 
Of Z»ie*s cookery no doubt was stealing 

Upon his senses, and the kindling beam 
Of the new fire, which Zoe kept up, knecHr , 

To stir her viands_ made him quite awake 

And long for food, but chiefly a beef-steak. 

CLIV. 

But beef is rare within these oxless isles : 
Goat's flesh there is, no doubt, and kid 
and mutton ; 
And, when a holiday upon them smiles. 
A joint upon their oarbarous spits they jmu 
on : 
But this occurs but seldom, between whiles, 
For some of these are rocks w'ith scarce a 
hut on. 
Others are fair and fertile, among which 
This, though not large, was one rf t^ ■mm' 
• rich'. 

OA 2 A 



354 



DON JUAN. 



CLT. 

I say that beef rs rare, and can't help thinking 
That the old fable of the Minorani— 

From which onrnifxlern morals, rightlj- shrink- 
ing, 
Crmdemn th; royal lady's ta^^te who Wore 
fow's shape for a mask— was only (sinking 
The alleg iry) a mere type, no moie, 

Thill Pasiphae promoted breeding cattle, 

ro make the Cretans bloodier in battle. 

For ive at] know that. English people are 

Fed upon beef — 1 won't say much of beer, 
tJecan^e 't is liquor only, and being far 

Vroiu this my s'lbjecl, has no business here; 
We know, Joo, they are very fond of war, 

A pleasure — like ail pleasures — rather dear; 
So '.v< re the Cretans — from which I infer, 
'^ hat beef and battles both were owing to ber. 

rLVii. 
But w resume. The languid Juan raised 

His head upon his elbow, and he saw 
n sight on which he had not lately gazed. 

As all his latter meals had been quite raw, 
Three or lour things, lor which the Lord he 
praised, 

And, feeling still the famish 'd vulture gnaw, 
He fell upon whate'er was offer'd, like 
A priest, a shark, an alderman, or pike. 

CLVIII. 

He ale, and he' was well supplied : and she, 
^^■ho watch'd him like a mother, would have 
led 

Him past all bounds, because she smiled to see 
Such appetite in one she had deem'd dead : 

Bui Zoe, being older than Haidce, 

Knew (by tradition, for she ne'er had read) 

That famish'd people must be slowly niirst, 

And fed by spoonfuls, else they always burst 

CLIX. 

And so she took the liberty to state, 

Hather by deedsthan^'ords, because the case 

Was urgent, that the gentleman, whose fate 
Had made her mistress quit her bed to trace 

1 he soa-shore at this hour, must leave his plate. 
Unless he wish'd to die upon the place — 

She snatch'd it, and refused another morsel. 

Saving, he had gorged enough to make a horse 
ill. 



Next they — he being naked, save a talter'd 
Fai r of scarce decent trousers — went to work, 

\nd in the tire his recent fags they scatter'd. 
And iress d him, for the present, Jike a Turk, 



Or Greek— fiat is, although it not mnch ma* 

ter'd. 

Omitting turban, slippers, pistols, dirk, — 

They furnish 'd him, entire, except some stitches^ 

"With a clean shirt, and very spacious breechs* 

CLXI. 

And then fair Haidee tried her tongne Rt 
.speaking, 

But not a word conld Juan comprehend, 
Although he listen 'd so that the young Greek ic 

Her eamestncss would ne'er have made a» 
end; 
And. as he intemipted not, went eking 

Her speech out to her protege and friend, 
Till pausing at the last her breath to take, 
She saw he did not understand Romaic. 



And then she had recourse to nods, and signs 
And smiles, and sparkles of the speaking eve, 

And read (the only book she could) the lines 
Of his fair face, and found, by sympath.y, 

The answer eloquent, where the soul shines 
And darts in one quick glance a long reply-, 

And thus in every look she saw exprest 

A world of words, and things at which she 



CLXIII. 

And now, by dint of fingers and of eyes, 
And words repeated after her, be took 

A lesson in her tongue; but by surmise, 

No doubt, less of her language than her look ; 

As he who studies fervently the skies 

Turns oftener to the stars than to his book 

Thus Juan leam'd bis alpha beta better. 

From Haidee's glance than any graven letter. 

CLXIV. 

'T is pleasing to be school'd in a strange tongue 
By female lips and eyes — that is, I mean, 

When both the teacher and the taught are young. 
As was the case, at least, where I have been ; 

They smile so when one 's right, and when 
one 's wrong 
They smile still more, and then there intervene 

Pressure of hands, perhaps even a chaste kiss; — 

I learn'd the little that 1 know by this: 

CLXV. 

That is, some words of Spanish, Tmk and 
Greek, 
Italian not at all, having no teachers ; 
Much English I cannot pretend to spetA, 
Learning that language chiefly ftcm it» 
preachers, 



DON JUAN 



355 



B*n.i\v, South, Tillotscn, whom every week 

I' study, also Blair, the highest reachers 
Oi'eliwuence in piety and prose — 
I hate your poets, so read none of those. 

CLXVI. 

As for the ladies, I have nought to say, 

A wanderer from the British world of fashion, 
Were I, like other " dogs, have had my day," 

Like other men, too, may have had my 
passion — 
Bill that, like other things, has pass'd away, 

And all her fools whom I could lay the lash 

on : -' [me. 

Foes, friends, men, women, now are nought to 

But dreams of what has been, no more to be. 

cx,xvii. 
fleturn wie t<» Don Juan. He begun 

To hear hew words, and to repeat them ; 
but 
Some feelings, universal as the sun. 

Were such as could not in his breast be shut 
More than within the bosom of a nun : 

He was in love, — as you would be, no doubt. 
With a yoiuig benefactress, — so was she, 
/ust in the way we very often see. 

CLXVIII. 

\nd every day by daybreak — rather early 

For Juan, who was somewhat fund of rest- 
She came into the cave, but it was merely 

To see her bird reposing in his nest ; 
Aud she would softly stir his locks so curly. 

Without disturbing her yet slumbering guest, 
Breathing all gently o'er his cheek and mouth. 
As o'er a bed of roses the sweet south. 

CLXIX. 

And every mom his colour freshlier came. 
And every day help'd on his convalescence; 

T was well, because health in the human frame 
Is pleasant, besides being true love's essence. 

For health and idleness to passion's flame 
Are oil and gunpowder; and some good 
lessons 

Are also learnt from Ceres and from Bacchus, 

Without whom Venus will not long attack us. 

CLXX. 

V'liije Venus fills the heart, (without heart 
really [good,) 

Love, though good always, is not quite so 
Ceres presents a plate of vermicelli, — 

For love must be sustain'd like flesh and 
blood, — 
While Bacchus pours out wine, or hands a jelly: 

Eggs, oysters, too, are amatory food ; 
But who is their purveyor from above 
tieaven knows, — it may be Neptune, Pan, or 
Jove. 



CLXxr. 

When Juan woke he found some goo thingi 
ready, 

A bath, a breakfast, and the finest yss 
That ever made a youthful heart less eady, 

Besides her maid's, as pretty for the 'size; 
But I have spoken of all this already- • 

And repetition 's tiresome and unwii 5.— 
Well — Juan, after bathing in the sea. 
Came always back to coffee and Halt '.c 

CLXXII. 

Both were so young,-and one so inno ent 
That bathing pass'd for nothing ; Juan 
seem'd 

To her, as 'twere, the kind of being sent, 
Of whom these two years she had nightly 
dream d, 

A. something to be loved, a creature meant 
To be her happiness, and whom she deem'a 

To render happy ; all who joy would win 

Must share it,: — Happiness was born a twin 



It was such pleasure to behoM him, such 
Enlargement of existence to partake 

Nature with him, to thrill beneath his touch. 
To watch him slumbering, and to see bin 
wake : 

To live with him for ever were too much ; 
But then the thought of parting made her 
quake : 

He was her own, her ocean-treasure, cast 

Like a rich wreck — her first love, and her last. 

CLXXIV. 

And thus a moon roll'd on, and fair Haidee 
Paid daily visits to her boy, and took 

Such plentiful precautions, that still he 

Remaia'd unknown within his craggy nook; 

At last her father's prows put out to sea, 
For certain merchantmen upon the look. 

Not as of yore to carry off" an lo. 

But three liagusan vessels, bound for Scio 

CLXXV. 

Then came her freedom, for she had no mother 
So that, her father being at sea, she was 

Free as a manied woman, or such other 
Female, as where she likes may freely pas* 

Without even the incumbrance of a brother 
The freest she that ever gazed on glass; 

I speak of Christian lands in this comparison 

Where wives, at Ica^si, are seldom kept ic 
garrison. 
Ik 2 



356 



DOISr JVAN. 



CLXXVl. 

Now she prolong'd her visits and her talk 
(For they must talk), and he had learnt to say 

So much as to propose to take a walk, — 
For little had he wander'd since the day 

On which, like a young flower snapp'd Irom 
the stalk, 
Dr()oping and dewy on the beach he lay, — 

A ad thus they walk'd out in the al'temoon, 

And saw the sun set opposite the moon 

CLXXVII, 

It was a Avild and breaker-beaten coast, 

With cliffs above, and a broad sandy shore, 

Guarded by shoals and rocks as by an host. 
With here and there a creek, whose aspect 
w-ore 

A belter welcome to the tempest-tost ; 

And rarely ceased the haughty billow's roar. 

Save on the dead long summer days, which 
make 

The out.stretch'd ocean glitter like a lake. 

CLXXVIIl. 

And the .«mall rippie spilt upon the beach 
Scarcely o'ei-pass'd the cream of yoar cham- 
pagne, ' [reach. 
When o'er the brim the sparkling bumpers 
That spring-dew of the spirit ! the heart's 
rain ! [preach 
Few things surpass old wine ; and they may 
Who please, — the more because they preach 
in vain, — [laughter. 
Let us have wine and women, miith and 
Sermons and soda-water the day after. 

CLXXIX. 

Man, being reasonable, must get drunk 
The best of life is but intoxication : 

Glory, the grape, love^ gokl, in these are sunk 
The hopes of all men, and of every nation ; 

\A about their sap, how branchless were the 
trunk 
Of life's strange tree, so fruitful on occasion: 

B'U to return, — Get very drunk ; and when 

y<m wake with headach, you shall see what 
then. 

CLXXX. 

Ring for your valet — bid him quickly bring 
... Some hock and soda-water, then you '11 

know 
A pleasure worthy Xerxes the great king. 
For not the blest sherbet, sublimed' with 

snow, 
Nor the first sparkle of the desert-spring, 
. Nor Burgundy in all its sunset glow. 
After long travel, ennui, love, or slaughter, 
Vie with that draught of hock and soda-water. 



CLXjCII. 

The coast— I think it was the coast ttal I 

, Wasjust describing— Yes, it ifflw inecoart-* 
Lay at this perirxl quiet as the sky, ■ 

The sands untumbled, the blue waves untosi, I 
And all was stillness, save the sea-bird's err, 

And dolphin's leap, and little billow crost 
By some low rock or shelve, that made it iiH 
Against the boundary it scai-cely wet. 

CLXXXII, 

And forth they wander'd, her sire being gone, 
As I have said, upon an expedition ; 

And mother, brr'her, guaidian, she had none, 
Save Zoe, who, although with due precision 

She wailed on her lady with the sun, 

Thought daily service was her onlv missioD 

Bringing warm water, wreathing 'her lonj 
tresses, 

And asking now and then for cast-oflf dresse* 

CLXXXIII. 

It was the cooling hour, just when the roundrtl 
Red sun sinks down behind the azuie hif., 

Which then seems as if the whole earth ii 
bounded. 
Circling all nature, hush'd, and dim,andsti'i 

With the farmountain-crescent half suirounr erf 
On one side, and the deep sea calm and chU. 

Upon the other, and the rosy sky 

With one star sparkling through it like an «/• 

CLXXXIV. 

And thus they wander'd forth, and hand i j'uand 
Over the shining pebbles and the iVelz, 

Glided along the smooth and hardrn'j sand, 
And in the worn and wild recej^^'a^les 

Work'd by the storms, yet woik'«; ts it v.eM 
plann'd, 
In hollow halls, with sparry r» o*s and cells. 

They turn'd to rest ; and , each da ,j d by an arm, 

Yielded to the deep twilight't. ^/ii"ple charn). 

CLXXXV. 

They look'd up to the sky, \Air^e floating glow 
Spread like a ro.sy ocear-,, t ist and bright; 

They gazed upon the glitJt.-ing sea beknv, 
Whence the broad mo ai rose circling into 
siglrt; [low. 

They heard the waves' *<lash, andthewindso 
And saw each oth* » dark eyes darting lighl 

Into each other—auf, beholding this, 

Their lips drew nea>, and clung into a Idss; 

' J iXXVI. 

A long, long kiss. <t iciss of youth, and lore, 
And beauty, 9i] ;oncentrating like ray» 

Into one focus, kindled from above: 
Such ki*s^ &.S belong to early days, 



DON JUAN. 



357 



Where heart, and sotil, and sense, in concert 
move, 
And the blo«>d 's lava, and the pulse a blaze, 
Each kiss a heart-quake, — for a kiss's strength, 
I tliiuk, it must be reckon 'd by its length. 

CLXXXVII. 

By lensjlh 1 mean duraiion ; theirs endured 
Heaven knows how long — uo doubt they 
never reckon'd ; 
And it' they had, they could not have .secured 

The sum of their sensalk)us to a second : 
Tliey had not spoken ; but they felt allured. 

As if iheii souls and lips each other beckon 'd, 

Which, being join"d, like swarming bees they 

clung — [honey sprung. 

Their heatos the flowers fftim whence the 

CLXXXVIII. 

They were alone, but not alone as they 
'' Who shut in chambers think it loneliness ; 
The silent o-.ean, and the starlight bay, 
■ Thttwilijjhtglow, whichmomently grew less, 
The voiceless sands, and dropping caves, that lay 
Around them, made them to each other priess. 
As if there were no life beneath the sky 
Save theirs, and that their life could never die. 

clXxxix. 
They fear'd no ej'es nor ears on that lone beach, 
They felt no terrors from the night, they were 
All in all to each other: though their speech 
Was broken words, they thought a language 
there, — 
And all the burning tongues the passions teach 

Found in one sigh the best inleipreter 
Of nature's oracle — first love, — that all 
Which Eve has left her daughters since her fall. 

cxc. 
Haidee spoke not of scruples, ask'd no vows, 

Nor ofler'd any ; she had never heard 
O plight and promises to be a spouse, 
Or perils by a loving maid incurr'd ; 
S le was all which pure ignorance allows. 

And fiew to her youngmateiikeayoungbird; 
-<nd, never naving dreamt of falsehood, she 
ilad not one word to say of constancy. 

cxci. 
She loved, and was beloved — she adored, 
And she was worshipp'd; alter nature's 
fashion, 
Their intense souls, into each other pour'd, 
If sovds could die, had perish'd in that 
passion, — 
But by degrees tbcir senses wee restored, 
Again to be o'ercome, again to da^^h on ; 
And, beating 'gainst /t/« bosom, Haidee's heart 
Fell us if never more to beat auart. 



cxcri. 
Alas ! they wat so young, so beautiful, 

So lonciy, loving, helpless, and the hour 
Was that in which the heart is always full, 

And, having o'er itself no further power, 
Promjits deeds eternity can not annul, 

Bui. pays off moments in an endless showes 
Of hell-fire — all prepared for people giving 
Pleasure or pain to one another living, 

cxciii, 
Alas ! for Juan and Haidee ! they w^ere 

So lovely and so loving — till then never, 
Excepting oiir first parents, such a pair 

Had run the risk of being damn'd forever 
And Haidee, being devout as well as fair. 

Had, doubtless, heard about the Stygian ri ver, 
And hell and purgatory — but Ibrgot 
Just in the very crisis she should not. 

CXCIV. 

They look upon each ulker, and their eyes 
Gleam in the moonlight; and her whit<» 
arm clasps 

Round Juan's head, and his around her lies 
Half buried in the tresses which it grasps ; 

She sits upon his knee and drinks his sighs, 
He hers, until they end in broken gasps ; 

And thus they form a group that's quite an- 
tique, 

Half naked, loving, natural, and Greek. 



And when those deep and burning moments 
pass'd, 

And Juan sunk to sleep within her arms, 
She slept not, but all tenderly, though fast, 

Susiaiu'd his head upon her bosom's charms; 
And now and then uer eye to heaven is cast. 

And then on the pale cheek her breast now 
w aims, 
Pillow'd on her o'erflowing heart, which pants 
With all it granted, and with all it granUs. 



An infant when it. gazes on a light, 

A child the moment when it draii.s the 
breast, 

A devotee when soars the Host in sight. 
An Arab with a stranger for a guest, 

A sailor when the prize has struck in fight, 
A miser filling his most hoarded chest, 

Feel rapture ; but not such true joy ai-e reapiag 

As they who watch o'er what they love ye}^ 
sleepirg 



a^a 



DOH JUAH. 



CXCVIl. 

For there it lies so tranquil, so beloved, 
All thai it hath of Hie with us is living ; 

So gentle, stirless, helpless, and unmoved, 
And all unconscious of the joy 't is giving; 

All it hath felt, inflicted, pass'd, and proved, 
Hush'd into depths beyond the watcher's 
diving; 

There lies the thing we love with all its errors 

And all its charms, like death without its ten-ors 

CXCVIII. 

The lady watch'd her lover — and that hour 
Of Love's, and Night's, and Ocean s solitude, 

O'erflow'd her soul with their united power ; 
Amidst the barren sand and rocks so rude 

She and her wave-worn love had made their 

bower, [intrude, 

Where nought upon their passion could 

And all the stars that crowded the blue space 

Saw nothing happier than her glowing face. 

cxcxix. 
Alas ! the love of women ! it is known 

To be a lovely and a fearful thing ; 
For all of theirs upon that die is thrown. 

And if 't is lost, life hath no more to bring 
To them but mockeries of the past alone. 

And their revenge is as the tiger's spring, 
Deadly, and quick, and crushing ; yet, as real 
Torture is theirs, what they inflict they feel. 



They aie right ; for man, to man so oft unjust, 

Is always so to women ; one sole bond 
Awaits them, treachery is all their trust ; 
Taught to conceal, their bursting hearts 
despond 
Over their idol, till some wealthier lust 

Buys them in maniage — and what rests 
beyond ? 
A thankless husband, next a faithless lover, 
Then dressing, nursing, praying, and •P*' 
over, 

CCI. 

Some take a lover, some take/" ^s or prayers, 
Some mind their housei*'^, others dissipa- 
tion. 
Some run away, anc* *,*ut exchange their cares, 
Losing the adr'^itage of a virtuous stition; 
Few changes e'er can better their affair). 

Theirs being an unnatural situition. 
From tiaa dull palace to the dirty horeS : 

plikjr the devil and then » ilte 4 i^veh 



Haidee was Saturesbride, and knew not this, ^ 
Haidee wks Passion's child, uorn where Utii'' 
sun [kisa 

Showers triple light, and scorches even the 
Of his gazelle-eyed daughters ; she was on« 

Made but to love, to feel that she was his 
Who was her chosen ; what was said or don« 

Elsewhere was nothing. — She had nought to 
fear, [here. 

Hope, care, nor love, beyond, her heart beat 

ccrii. 
And oh! that quickening of the heart, that bea« ! 

How much it costs us ! yet each rising tha'ob 
Is in its cause as its effect so sweet. 

That Wisdomf ever on the watch to rob 
Joy of its alchemy, and to repeat [.ij 

Fine truths ; even Conscience, too, has ft 
tough job - 2 

To make us understand each good old maxim^H 
So good — I wonder Castlereagh don't tax 'em. 

cciv. 
And now "t was done — on the lone shore 
were plighted [shed 

Their hearts ; the stars, their nuptial torches, 
Beauty upon tlie beautiful they lighted : 

Ocefin their witness, and the cave their bed, 
By their own feelings hallow 'd and united. 
Their priest was Solitude, and they were 
wed : 
And they were happy, for to their young eyes 
Each was an angel, and earth paradise. 

ccv. 
Oh, Love ! of whom great Caesar was ti)e suitoi; 

Titus the master, Antony the slave, 
Horace, Catullus, scholars, Ovi^i tutor, 

Sappho the sage blue-stocking, in whose 

grave neuter — 

All thcae may leap who rather would be 

Cv^^adia's rock still overlooks the wave^ — 

^' , Love ! thou art the very god of evil, 

^or, after all, we cannot call thee devil. 

CCVI. 

Thou mak'st the chaste connubial state pre 
carious. 
And jestest with the brows of mightiest men 
CsBsar and Pompey, Mahomet, Belisarius, 
Have much employ 'd the muse of bistcrr'a 
pen: 
Their lives and fortunes were extremely Tarious, 
Such worthies Time will never see again ; 
Yet to these four in three things the sanit 

luck holds. 
They all were hemes, conquerors, an<l euckold* 



DON JUAN. 



35^ 



ccvu. 

<b'ju mak'st philosopliers ; there 's Epicurus 

Aud Aristippus, a material crew 1 
^'Ijo to immoral courses would allure us 

By theories quite practicable too ; 
If only from the devil they would insure us, 
How pleasant were the maxim (not quite 
new), [us?" 

" Sat, drink, and love, what can the rest avail 
9o said the royal sage* Sardauapalus. 

CCVIIl 

Hut Juan ! had he quite forgotten Julia? 

And should he have forgotten her so soon ? 
I can't but say it secrrs to me most truly a 

Perplexingquestion ; but, no doubt, the moon 
Does these things for us, aud whenever newly a 

Palpitation rises, 'tis her boon, 
Else how the devil is it that fresh features 
Have such a charm for us poor human creatures ? 



ccxn. 

T is the percept m of the beautiful, 
A hue exteusifni of the faculties, 

Platonic, universal, wonderful, 

Drawn from the stars, aud filter'd throuigk 
the skies. 
Without which life would be extremely dull; 

In short, it is the use of our own eyes. 
With one or two small senses added, just 
To hint that flesh is form'd of fiery dust. 

CCXIII. 

Yet 't is a painful feeling, and unwilling. 
For surely if we always could perceive 

To the same object graces quite as killing 
As when she rose upon us like an Eve, 

T would save us many a heartach, many a 
shilling, 
(For we must get them anyhow, or grieve,) 

Whereas if one sole lady pleased for ever, 

How pleasant for the heart, as well as liver! 



. hale inconstancy — I loathe, detest. 

Abhor, condemn, abjure the m;)rtal made 

Di such quicksilver clay that in his breast 
No permanent foundation can be laid ; 

Love, constant love, has been my constant 
guest, 
\nd yet last night, being at a masquerade", 

I saNV the prettiest creature, fresh from Milan, 

Which gave me some sensations like a villain. 



But soon Philosophy came to my aid, 

And whisper'd, " i'hink of every sacred tie ! " 

' I will, my dear Philosophy ! ' I said, 
" But then her teeth, and then, oh, Heaven ! 
her eye ! 

I ]] just inquire if she be wife or maid, 
Or neither — out of curiosity." 

•* Stop ! " cried Philosophy, with air so Grecian 

(Though she was masqued then as a fair Vene- 
tian ;) 

CCXl. 

• Stoj . * so 1 stopp'd. — But to return: that 
which 

Men call inconstancy is nothing more 
Than admiration due where nature's rich 

Profusion with young beauty covers o'er 
Some favour'd object; and as in the niche 

A lovely statue we almost adore, 
This sort of adoration of the real 
U but a heightening of the *' beau ideal." 



CCXIT. 

The heart is like the sky, a part of heaven, 
But changes night and day, too, like the sky . 

Now o'er it clouds and thunder must be driven, 
And darkness ami destruction as on high : 

But when it hath been scorch'd, and pierced 
and riven, 
Its storms expire in water-drops; the eye 

Pours fonh at last the hearts blood turu'd to 
tears. 

Which make the EngUshclimateof our years. 

ccxv. 
The liver is the lazaret of bile. 

But very rarely executes its function, 
For the first passion stays there such a while, 
That all the rest creep in and form a junction. 
Like knots of vipers on a dunghill's soil. 
Rage, fear, hate, jealousy, revenge, com- 
punction, 
So that all mischiefs spring up fi'-m this entrail. 
Like earthquakes from the hid^len fire call d 
" central." 

CCXVI. 

[n the mean time, without proceeding mare 
In this anatomy, I've finish'd nov 

Two hundred and odd stanzas as before. 
That being about the number I '11 allov/ 

Each canto of the twelve, or twenty-four ; 
And, laying down my pen, I make my bow. 

Leaving Don Juan and Haidee to plead 

For them and theiis with all who deign to read 



360 



DON JUAN, 



Bon gjuan. 



Marriage frttm love, like vinegai from i^ioftr^. 

A had. sour, sober beverage — by lime 
Is sharpen'*.! from its high celestial flavour' 
Down- to a very homely household savour, g 



CANTO THE TBIBD.* 



H4ilL,Muse! etcetera. — WcleftJuan sleeping 
Pillow'd upon a fair and happy breast, 

And watch'd by eyes that never yet knew 
weeping, 
And loved by a young heart, too deeply blest 

To feel the poison through her spirit creeping, 
Or know who rested there, a foe to rest. 

Had soil'd the current of her sinless years, 

And turn'd her pure heart's purest blood to 



Oh, Love ! what is it in this world of ours 
Which makes it fatal to be loved ? Ah why 

With cypress branches hast thou wreathed tliy 
bowers, 
And made thy best intei-preter a sigh ? 

As those who dote on odours pluck the flowers, 
And place them on their breast — but place 
to die — 

Thus the frail beings we would fondly cherish 

Are laid within our bosoms but to perish. 

III. 

In her first passion woman loves her lover. 
In all the others all she loves is love, 

WTiich grows a habit she can ne'er get over, 
And fits her loosely — like an easy glove. 

As you may find, whene'cryouliketoproveher: 
One man alone at first her heart can move; 

She then prefers him in the plural number, 

Not finding that the additions much encumber. 

IV. 

I know not if the fault be men's or theirs ; 

Butonething'spretty sure; a woman planted 
fUnlessatonce she plunge for life in prayers) — 

After a decent time must be gallanted ; 
Although, no doubt, her first of love aflfairs 

Is that to which her heart is wholly granted ; 
Yet there are some, they say, who have had none, 
But those who have ne'er end with only oneA^ 

V. 

T is melancholy, and a fearful sign 
Of human frailty, folly, also crime, 

That love and man-iage rarely can combine, 
Although they both are bom in the same 
cliaie 



There's something of antipathy, as 'twere, 
Between their present and iheir future stat^) 

A kind of flattery that's hardly fair s 

Is used until the truth anives too late— -A 

Yet what can people do, except despair? 
The same things change their names at sucb 
a rate ; 

For instance — passion in a lover 's gloiious, ^ 

But in a husband is pronounced uxorious. -I' 

'^'•. :l 

Men grow ashamed of being so veiy fond ; 

They sometimes also get a little tired 
tBui that, of course, is rare), and then despond 

The same things cannot always be admired 
Y'el 'tis " so nominated in the bund," 

That both are tied till one shall have expired. 
Sad thought! to lose the spouse that was 

adorning 
Our days, and put one's servants into mourning. 



There 's doubtless something in domestic 
doings 

Which forms, in fact, true love's antithesis; 
Romances paint at full length people's wooings. 

But only give a bust of marriages ; 
For no one cares for matrimonial cooings. 

There 's nothing wrong in a connubial kiss: 
Think you, if Laura had been Petrarch's wife, 
He would have written sonnets all his life* 



All tragedies are fmish'd by a death, 
All comedies are ended by a mairiage , 

The future states of both aie left to faith, 
For authors fear description might disparage 

The Morlds to come of both, or fall beneath. 
And then both worlds would punish their 
miscarriage ; [ready, 

So leaving each their priest and prayer-book 

They say no more of Death, or of the Lady.^^ 



The only two that in my recollection 

Have sung of heaven and hell, or marriag* 
are 

DanteSO and Miltofi«>, and of both the affectioo 
Was biiplos-8 in their miptiuls, for -some tw 



DON \rUAN. 



361 



Of fault or temper ruin'd the connection 
(Such things, in fact, it don't ask much to 

mar) ; 
But Dante's Beatrice and Milton's Eve 
Were not drawn from lht:ir spouses, you con- 

ceive.^3 

XI. 

Some persons say that Dante meant theology 
By Beatrice, and not a mistress — I, 

Although my opinion may require apology, 
Deem this a commeniator's phantasy, [he 

Unless indeed it was from his own knowledge 
Decided thus, and show'd good reason why ; 

I think that Dante's more abstruse ecstatics 

Meant to personify the mathematics. 

XII. 

Haidee and Juan were not manied, but 
The fault was theirs, not mine: it is not fair, 

Chaste reader, then, in any way to put 

the blame on me, unless you wish they were; 

then if you'd have them wedded, please to shut 
The book which treats of this erroneous pair, 

Before the consequences grow too awfid; 

Tis dangerous to read of loves unlawful. 

XIII. 
Vet they were happy, — happy in the illicit 

Indulgence of their innocent desires ; 
But more imprudent grown with eveiy visit, 

Haidee forgot the island was her sire's; 
When we have what we like 't ishard to miss it, 

At least in the beginning, ere one tire? ; 
Thus she came often, not a moment losing, 
Whilst her piratical papa was cruising. 

XIV. 

Let not his mode of raising cash seem strange. 
Although he fleeced the flags of every nation, 

For into a prime minister buJ change 
His title, and 'tis nothing but taxation ; 

But he, more modest, took an humbler range 
Of life, and in an honester vocation 

Pursued o'er the hi^h seas his watery jouniey, 

And merely practised as a sea-attorney. 

XV. 

The good old gentleman had been detain'd 
By winds and waves, and some important 
ca])tures ; 
And, in the hope of more, at sea remaii 'd, 
Although a squall or two had damp'd his 
raptures, 
By s'sramping one of the prizes ; he haa chain'd 
His prisoners, dividing them like chapters. 
In pumber'd lots ; they all had cuffs and collars, 
Ard averaged each from ten to a bimdi;«i 
doilari*. 



Some he disposed of off Cape Matapan, 
Among his friends the Miiinots; some a^ au4 

To his Tunis con-espondents, save one man 
Toss'd overboard unsaleable (being old) ; 

The rest — save here and there some richer one 
Reserved for future ransom iu the hold, 

Were liuk'd alike, as for the common people h» 

Had a large order from the Dey of Tripoli. 

XVII 

The merchandise was served in the same waj 

Pieced out for different marts in the Levant 
Except some certain portions of the prey, 

Light classic articles of female want, 
French stuffs, lace, tweezers, toolhpicjt*,. tea- 
pot, tray, - 

Guitars and castanets from Alicant, 
All which selected from the spoil he gathers, 
Robb'd for his daughter by the best of fathers. 

XVIII. 
A monkey, a Dutch mastiff, a mackaw. 

Two paiTbts, with a Persian cat and kittens 
He chose from several animals he saw — 

A terrier, too, which once had been a Briton's, 
Who dying on the coast of Ithaca, 

The peasants gave the poor dumb thing a 
pittance. 
These to secure in this strong blowing weather 
He caged in one huge hamper altogether. 

XIX. 

Then having settled his marine affairs. 

Despatching .single cruisers here and there 

His vessel having need of some repaii's, 
He shaped his com-se to where his daughtei 
fair 

Cotitinued still her hospitable cares ; 

But that part of the coast being shoal ano 
bare, , [nMle 

And rough with reefs which ran out many a 

His port lay on the other side o' the isle. 

XX. 

And there he went ashore without delay, 
Having ne custom-house nor quarantine 

To ask him awkward questions on the way, 
About the time and place where he had been 

He left his ship to be hove down next day, 
W^ith orders to the people to careen ; 

So that all hands were busy beyond measure 

In getting out goods, ballast, guns, and treasure. 

XXI. 

4n-iving at the summit of a hill [hcinc 

"Which overlook'd the <vhite walls of hit 

He stopp'd. — What singular emotions fill 
Their bosoms who have been induoe>i tc 
roajn! , - 



362 



DON JTJAlsr. 



With fluttering doubts if all be well or ill — 

With love lor many, and with fears for some. 
Vll feelings which o'erleap the years long lost, 
v.nn bring our hearts back to their staiting-post. 

XXII. 

The approach of home to husbands and to sires, 
After long travelling by land or water, 

Cki'^st naturally some small doubt inspires—* 
A "eniale family's a serious matter; 

None trust the sex more, or so much admires — 
But they hate flattery, so I never flatter ;} 

Wives in then hrsbauds' absences grow subtler, 

And daughters sometimes run ofl" with the 
butler. 

XXIII. 

An honest gentleman at his return 

May not have the good fortune of Ulysses; 

Not all lone matrons for their husbands mourn, 
Or show the same dislike to suitors' kisses; 

The odds are that he finds a handsome uru 
To his memory — and two or three young 
misses [riches — ■ 

Bom to some friend, who holds his wife and 

And that his Argus bites him by — the breeches. 

XXIV. 

[f single, probably his plighted fair 

Has in his absence wedded some rioh miser; 

But all the better, for the happy pair 

May quarrel, and the lady growing wiser, 

He may resume his amatory care 
As cavalier servente, or despise her; 

And that his soiTow may not be a dumb one 

Write odes on the Inconstancy of Woman. 

XXV. 

And oh I ye gentlemen who have already 
Some chaste liaison of the kind — I mean 

.Vn honest friendship with a married lady — 
Thi' only ihnig of this sort ever seen 

To last — of all connections the most steady. 
And the true Hymen (the first 's but a 
screen) — 

Vet for all that keep not too long aw^ay, 

("vc known the absent wrong'd four times a 
cay. 

XXVI. 

Lambro, our sea-solicitor, who had 

Much less experience of dry land than ocean, 

On .seeing his own chimney-smoke, felt glad; 
But not knowing metaphysics, had no notiou 

CK" the true vea.sou of his not being sad, 
Ur that of any other strong emotion ; 

He loved Ids child, and would have wept the 
loss of her, [pher. 

But knew tbiB cause no more than a philos-o- 



XX VH. 

He saw his white walls shining in the stm. 
His garden trees all s^hadowy and green; 

He heard his rivulet's light bubbling nm, ^ 
The distant dog bark ; and percei ved between 

The umbrage of the wood so cool and dun 
The moving figures, and the sparkling sheea 

Of arms (in the East all arm) — and various dye» 

Of colour'd garbs, as bright as butterflies. 

xxviir. 

And as the spot where they appear he nears, 
Sui-prised at these unwonted signs of idling. 

He hears — alas! no music of the spheres. 
But an unhallow'd, earthly soimd of fiddlittg'-" 

A melody which made him doubt his ears, 
The cause being past his guessing or uft,-. 
riddling; 

A pipe, too, and a drum, and shortly after, 

A most unorienial roar of laughter. 

XXIX. y 

And still more nearly to the place advancing ff 

Descending rather quickly the declivity. 
Through the waved branches, o'er the green 
sward glancing, 

'Midst other indications of festivity. 
Seeing a troop of his domestics dancing 

Like dervises, who turn as on a pivot, he ,, 
Perceived it was thePyn-hic dance ^3 s„ niaitial. 
To which the Levantines are very partial. 'O 



And further on a troop of Grecian girls, 54 
The first and tallest her white kerchic* 
waving. 
Were strung together like a row of pearl.s, 
Link'd hand in hand, and dancing; each 
too having [curl.j*- 

Down her white neck long floating auburxv 
(The least of which would set ten poet? 
raving) ; 
Their leader sang — and bounded to her song\ 
With chorid step and voice, the virgin throng. 

X sxi. r 

And here, assembled cross-legg'd round theiT 
trays. 

Small social parties just begun to dine ; 
Pilaus and meats of all sorts met the gaze, 

And flasks of Samian and of Chian wme, 
And sherbet cooling in tlie porous vase; 

Above them their dessert gi"ew on it^ vinev 
The orange and pomegranate nodding o'er 

Drbpp'd in ilieir laps, scarce pluck'd, iheaf 
mellow store. 



DON JUAN 



363 



XXXIl. 

A band of children, round a snow-white ram, 
There wreathe his venerable horns with 
flowers ; 

While peaceful as if still an unwean'd lamb, 
The putnarch of the flock all gently cowers 

His sober head, majestically tame, 

Or eats from out the palm, or playful lowers 

His brow, as if in act to butt, and then 

Yielding to theii- small hands, draws back again. 

XXXIII. 

Their classical profiles, and glittering dresses. 
Their large black eyes, and soft seraphic 
cheek3, [tresses, 

Crimson as cleft pomegranates, their long 
The gesture which enchants, the eye that 
speaks, 
The innocence which happy childhood blesses, 
Made quite a picture of these little Greeks ; 
So that the philosophical beholder 
Sigh'd for their sakes — that ihey should e'er 
grow older. 

XXXIV. 

Afar, a dwarf bufl'oon stood telling tales 
To a sedate grey circle of old smokers 

Of secret treasures found in hidden vales, 
Of wonderful replies from Arab jokers, 

Of charms to make good gold and cure bad ails, 
Of rocks bewitch'd that open to the knockers. 

Of magic ladies who, by one sole act, 

Transfnrm'd their lords to beasts (but that's a 
fact). 

XXXV. 

Here was no lack of innocent diversion 
For the imagination or the senses, 

Song, dance, wine, music, stories from the 
Persian, 
All pretty pastimes in which no offence is; 

But Lambro saw all these things \sath aversion, 
Perceiving in his absence such ex]jenses, 

Dreading that climax of all human ills. 

The icflammation of his weekly bills. 

XXXVI. 

Ah! what is man? what perils still environ 
The happiest mortals even after dinner — 

A day of gold from out an age of iron 
Is all that life allows the luckiest sinner; 

Pleasure (whene'er she sings, at least) 's a siren, 
That lures, to flay alive, the young beginner; 

LaJijbro's reception at his people's banquet 

Wu» 8ui:|i as fire accor.Is ta a wet blanket. 



XXXVII. 

He — being a mun who seldom used a -word 
Too much, and wishing gladly to sui-prise 

(In general he surprised men with the sword 
His daughter — had not sent before to advise 

Of his arrival, so that no one stiiT'd ; 

And long he paused to re-assure his eyes 

In fact much more astonish'd than delighted 

To find so much good company invited. 

XXXVIII. 

He did not know (alas! how men will lie) 
That a report (especially the Greeks) 

Avouch'd his death (such people never die), 
And put his house in mourning several 
weeks. — 

But now their ej'es and also lips were dry ; 
The bloom, too, had return'd to Haidecs 
cheeks. 

Her tears, too, being return'd into their fount, 

She new kept house upon her own account 

XXXIX. 

Hence all this rice, meat, dancing, ^\nne, and 
fiddling, 
WTiichturn'd the isle into a place of pleasure, 
The servants all were getting dnmk or idling, 
A life which made them happy beyond mea 
sure. 
Her father's hospitality seem'd middling. 
Compared with what Haidee did with his 
treasure ; [proving, 

T was -wonderful how things went on im- 
While she had not one hour to spare from 
loving. 



Perhaps you think in stumbling on this feast 
He flew into a passion, and in fact 

There was no mighty reason to be pleased ; 
Perhaps you prophesy some sudden act. 

The whip, the rack, or dungeon at the leftst. 
To teach his people to be more exact. 

And that, proceeding at a very high rate. 

He showed the royal penchants of a pirate. 



Vou're wrong. — He was the mildest manner** 
man 

That ever scuttled ship or cut a throat; 
With such true breeding of a gentleman, 

You never could divine hi^. real thought; 
No courtier could, and scarcely woman can 

Gird more deceit within a petticoat; 
Pity he loved adventurous life's yarietjj 
He was so jgi-caf a loss to good socle;/. 



3 f, 1 



DON JUAN. 



Advancing to the nearest dinner tray, 

Tapping the shoulder of the nighest guest, 
With a peculiar smile, which, by the way, 

Boded no good, whatever it express'd. 
He ask'd tlie meaning of this holiday ; 

The vinous Greek to whomhehadaddi'ess'd 
^'^is question, much too merry to divine 
m he questioner, filj'd up a glass of -wine, 

' XLIII, 

And without turning his facetious head, 
Over his shoulder, with a Bacchant air, 

Presented the o'erflowing cup, and said, 
" Talking 's diy work, I have no time to 
spare." 

K. second hiccup'd, " Our old master's dead, 
You'd better ask our mistress who's his heir." 

" Ouj' mistress!" quoth a third: " Our mis- 
tress ! — pooh ! — 

y^i mean our master — not the old, bui new." 

XLIV. 

These rascals, being new comers, knew not 
whom [fell— 

They thus address'd — and Lamhro's visage 
And o'er his eye a momentary gloom [quell 

Pass'd, but he strove <iuite courteously to 
The expression, and endeavouring to resume 

His smile, requested one of them to tell 
The name and quality of his new patron. 
Who seem'd to have turn'd Haidee into a 
mation. 



" I know not," quoth the fellow, " who or 
what 

He is, nor whence he came — and little care; 
But this I know, that this roast capon's fat. 

And that good wine ne'er wash'd down 
better fare ; 
And if you are not satisfied with that. 

Direct your questions to my neighbour there ; 
He '11 answer all for better or for worse, 
F<> none likes more to hear himself converse." 

XLVI. 

I said that Lambro was a man of patience. 
And certainly he show'd the bestof breeding, 

Which scarce even France, the paragon of 
nations. 
E'er saw her most polite of sons exceeding; 

He borethcse sneers against his nearrelations, 
His own anxiety, his heart, too, bleeding. 

The insults, too, of every servile glutton, 

*Vho all the time was eating up his mutton. 



XLVII. 

Now in a person nsed to much command-- 

To bid men come, and go, and come again— 
To see his orders done, too, out of hand — 
Whether the word wv death, or but lh« 

chain — 
It may seem strange to fine his mannersbland • 

Yet such things are, which I can not explain 
Though doubtless he who can command him8.iL 
Is good to govern — almost as a Guelf. 

XLvin. 
Not that he was not sometimes rash oi so. 

But ne/er in his real and serious mood ; 
Then calm, concentrated, and still, and slow, 

He lay coil'd like the boa in the wood ; 
With him it never was a word and blow. 

His angry word once o'er, he shed no blood. 
But in his silence there was much to rue, 
And his one blow left little work for two. 

XMX. 

He ask'd no further questions, and proceeded 
On to the house, but by a pnvate way, 

So that the few who met him hardly heeded, 
So little they expected him that day; 

If love paternal in his bosom pleaded 

For Haidee's sake, is more than I can say, 

But certainly to one deem'd dead returning, 

Thisrevei seem'd a curious mode of mourning. 

L. 

If all the dead could now return to life, 

(Which God forbid!) or "some, or a great - 
many, ' ' 

For instance, if a husband or his wife 
(Nuptial examples are as good as any). 

No doubt whate'er might be their foi-raer strife. 

The present weather would be much moi^e. 

rainy — •'' 

Tears shed into the grave of the connection 

Would share most probably its resurrection. 

LI. 

He enter'd in the house no more his home, 
A thing to human feelings the most trying, 

And harder for the heart to overcome, [dying, 
Perhaps, than even the mental pangs ol 

To find our hearthstone turn'd into a tomb. 
And round its once warm precincts palely 

The ashes of our hopes is a deep grief, 
Beyond a single gentleman's belief 

LI I. 

He enter'd in the house — his home no more,;. 

For without hearts there is no horn: — a nd 
felt 
The solitude of passing his o\vn door 

Without a welcome Owrt h* -ng had dweh 



DON JUAN. 



365 



There his few peaceful days Time had swept 
o'er, [melt 

There his worn bosom and keen eye would 
Over the inuocence of that sweet child, 
His only shrine of feelings undefiled. 

LIII. 

He was a man of a strange temperament, 
Of mild demeanour though of savage mood 

Moderate in all his habits, and content 
With temperance in pleasure, as in food. 

Quick to perceive, and strong to bear, and 
meant 
For something better, if not wholly good ; 

His country's wrongs and his despair to save 
lier 

Had stung him from a slave to an enslaver. 

I. IV. 

The love of power, and rapid gain of gold. 
The hardness by long habitude produc(;d, 

The dangerous life in which he had grown old, 
The mercy he had granted oft abused. 

The sights he was accustom'd to behold. 
The wild seas, and wild men with whom he 
cruised, 

Sad cost his enemies a long repentance, 

%ud made him a good friend, but bad ao- 
quaiutance. 

LV. 

But something of the spirit of old Greece 
F!a>.h'd o'er his soul a few heroic rays, 

Such as lit onward to the Golden Fleece 
His predocessors-in the Colchian days ; 

'T IS true he had no ardent love for peace — 
Alas 1 his countiy show'd no path to praise : 

Hate to the world and war with every nation 

He waged, in vengeance of her degradation. 

LVI. 

sun o'er his mind the influence of the clime 
Shea its Ionian elegance, which show'd 

Its power unconsciously full many a time,— 
A taste seen in the choice of his abode, 

A iove o*" music and of scenes sublime, 
A pleaoiire in the gontle stream that flow'd 

fVsi him in crystal, and a joy in llowers, 

Bedew'd his spirit in his calmer hours. 
LVII. 

But whatso'er he had of love reposed 

On that beloved daughter ; she had been 

The only thing wluch kept his heart unclosed 
Amidst the savage deeds he had donp. and 
seen, 

1 lonely pure affection unopposed : 
There wanted but the loss of this to wean 

His feelings from all milk of human kindness, 

Aad turn him like the Cyclops mad with bhnd- 



LVIII. 

The cubless tigress in her jungle rag'^r^ 
Is dreadful to the shepherd and the flo<* ; 

The ocean when its yeasty war is waging 
Is awful to the vessel near the rock; 

Bat violent things will sooner bearassuf.ginif 
Their fury being spent by its own shock. 

Than the stern, single, deep, and wordless m 

Of a strong human heart, and in a sire. 

LIX. 

It is a hard although a common case 

To find our chydren running restive— thej 

In whom our brightest days we would retrace, 
Our little selves re-form'd in finer clay. 

Just as old age is creeping on apace, 

And clouds come o'er the sunset of our day, 

They kindly leave us, though not quite alone, 

But in good company — the gout or stone. 

LX. 

Yet a fine family is a fine thing 

(Provided they don't come in after dinner), 
*T is beautiful to see a matron bring 

Her children up (if nursing them don't thii 
hei-}, 
Like cherubs round an altar-piece they clin^ 

To the fire-side (a sight to touch a sinner). 
A lady with her daughters or her nieces 
Shine like a guinea and seven-shilling pie«« 

LXI. 

Old Lambro pass'd unseen a private gate, 

And stood within his hall at eventide ; 
Meantime the lady and her lover sate 

At wassail in their beauty and their prid<« 
An ivory inlaid table spread with state 

Before them, and fair slaves on every sidciwt 
Gems, gold, and silver, form'd the servioe 

mostly, 
Mother of pearl and coral the less costly. 

i.xit. 
The dinner made about a hundred dishes ; 

Lamb and pistachio nuts — in short, al 

meats, [llshca 

And saffron soups, and sweetbreads ; and the 

Were of the finest that e'er flounced in nets, 
Drest to a Sybarite's most pamper'd wishes ; 

The beverage was various sherbets 
Of raisin, orange, and pomegranate juice, 
Squeezed through the rind, wliich makes U 
best for use. 

LXIII. 

These were ranged round, each in its crystal 
ewer, [repast, 

And fruits and date-bread loaves ciosod Jm 
And Mocha's berry, from Arabia puis. 

Id small fine China cups, came in at Uct| 



366 



DON JUAN. 



Gold cups of filigree made to secure 

The hand from burning underneath them 
placed. 
Cloves, cinnamon, and saffron too were boil'd 
Up with the coffee, which (I think) they spcrild. 

LXIV. 

Tlie hangings of the room were tapestry, made 
Of velvet panels, each of different hue. 

And thick with damask flowers of silk inlaid; 
And round them ran a yellow border too ; 

The upper border, richly wrought, di splay 'd, 
Embroider'd delicately o'er with blue, 

Soft Persian sentences, in lilac letters, 

trom poets, or the moralists their betters. 

LXV. 

These Oriental wiitrngs on the wall, 

Quite common in those countiies, are a kind 

Of monitors adapted to recall, 

Like skulls at Memphian banquets, to the 
mind 

The words which shook Belshazzar in his hall, 

And took his kingdom from him : You will 

lind, [treasure. 

Though sages may pour out their wisdom's 

There is no sterner moralist than Pleasure. 

LXVI. 

A beauty at the season's close grown hectic, 
A genius who has drunk himself to death, 

A rake turn'd methodistic, or Eclectic — 
(For that's the name they like to pray 
beneath) — 

But most, an alderman struck apoplectic. 
Are things that really take away the 
breath,— [able 

And show that late hours, wine, and love are 

To do not much less damage than the table, 

LXVII. 
Haidee and Juan carpeted their feet 

On crimson satin, border'd with pale blue; 
Their sofa occupied three parts complete 

Of the apartment — and appear'd quite new ; 
The velvet cushions (for a ihione more meet) — 

Were scarlet, from whose glowing cenU-e 
grew 
A sun cmboss'd in gold, whose rays of tissue, 
Meridan-like, were seen all light to issue. 



Crystal and marble, plate and porcelain, 

Haci done their work of splendoiw; Indian 

mats [stain, 

And Persian carpets, which the heart bled to 

Over the floors were spread ; gazelles and 

cats. 



y.Jid dwai-fs and blacks, and srch ]ik«3 lA'Bgs 
that gain itiuu'n ^ 

Their bread as ministers and favourites •?- 
To say, by degradation) — mingled there -rr- 
As plentiful as in a court, or fair. 

LXIX, 

There was no want of lofty min-ors, a,30i 

The tables, most of ebony inlaia ' S 

With mother of pearl or ivory, stood at hand, 
Or were of tortoise-shell or rare woods made, 

Fretted with gold or silver: — by command. 
The gieater pait of these were ready spread 

With viands and sherbets in ice — and wiue-f"; 

Kept for all comers, at all hours to diue. ,ij 

-■ 1% 
i.xx. 

Of all the dresses I select Haidee's : 

She wore two jelicks — one was of paJ^Tj 

yellow ; 

Of azure, pink, and white was her chemise^^ 

'Neath which her breast heaved like a little 

billow ; 

With buttons form'd of pearls as large as peas, 

All gold and crimson shone her j click's - 

fellow. 

And the striped white gauze baracan that 

bound her, [her. 

Like fleecy clouds about the moon, flow'd round 

LXXI. 

One large gold bracelet clasp'd each lovely ann, ,^, 
Lockless — so pliable from the pure gold .':'^ 

That tlie hand sti'etch'd and shut it without^. 
harm, 
The limb which it adom'd its only mould ; 

So beautiful — its very shape would charm, 
And clinging as if loath to lose its hold. 

The purest ore enclosed the whitest skin 

That e'er by precious metal was held in. 

LXXII. 

Around, as princess of her father's land, 
A like gold bar above her instep roird,55 

Announced her rank ; twelve rings were on 

her hand ; [tine fold 

Her hair was starr'd with gems ; her veil's 

Below her breast was fastcn'd with a band 
Of lavish pearls, whose worth could scarce 
be told ; 

Her orange silk full Turkish trousers furl'd 

Above the prettiest ankle in the world. 

LXXIII. 

Her hair's long auburn waves down to hsi 
heel 
Flow'd like an Alpine ton-ent which the snn 
Dyes Avith his morning light, — and vrovid 
conceal 
Her person^ if allow d at laage to nin, 



DON JUAN. 



367 



And still they seem resentfully to feel 

The silken fillet's curb, and sought to shun 
Their bonds whene'er some Zephyr caught 

began 
To offer his young pinion as her fan 

LXXIV. 

Round her she made an atmosphere of life, 
T>3 very air seem'd lighter from her eyes, 

They were so soft and beautiful, and rife 
With all we can imagine of the skies, 

And pure as Psyche ere she grew a wife — ■ 
Too pure even for the purest human ties ; 

Her overpowering presence made you feel 

It would not be idolatiy to kneel. 

LXXV. 

Her eyelashes, though dark as night, were 
tinged 
(It is the country's custom^T), but in vain; 
For those large black eyes were so blackly 
fringed. 
The glossy rebels mock'd the jetty stain, 
And in their native beauty stood avenged : 
iler nails were touch'd with henna; but 
again 
The power cS art was turn'd to nothing, for 
They could not look more rosy than before. 

LXXVI. 

The henna should be deeply dyed to make 
The skin relieved appeal' more fairly fair ; 

She had no need of this, day ne'er will break 
On mountain tops more heavenly white 
than her; 

The eye might doubt if it were well awake, 
She was so like a vision ; I might err, 

But Shakspeare also says, 'tis very silly 

" To gild refined gold, or paint the lily." 

LXXVII. 

Juan had on a shawl of black and gold, 
But a white baracan, and so transparent 

The sparkling gems beneath you might behold. 
Like small stars thiough the milky way 
apparent ; 

Hi*' turban, furl'd in many a graceful fold. 
An emerald aigrette with Haidee's hair in 't 

Simnounted, as its clasp, a glowing crescent. 

Whose rays shone ever trembling, but in- 
cessant. 

LXXVIII. 

And now they were diverted by their suite, 
Dwarfs, dancing giiis, black eunuchs, and a 
poet, 
fThich made their new establishment complete; 
The last was of great fame, and liked to 
skovit: 



His verses rarely wanted their due feet — 

And for his theme — he seldom sung ^elow it 
He being paid to satirise or flatter, 
As the psalm says, " inditing a good matter," 

x.xxix. 
He praised the j.-resent, and abused the past, 

Reversing the good custom of old days, 
An Eastern anti-jacobin at last 

He turn'd, preferring pudding to no prais6-.» 
For some few years his lot had been o'ercast 

By his seeming independent in his lays, 
But now he sung the Sultan and the Pacha 
\'\'iih truth like Southey, and with verse like 
Crashaw 

LXXX. 

He was a man who had seen many changes. 
And always changed as true as any needle; 
His polar star being one which rather rangeS; 
And not the fix'd — he knew the way to 
wheedle : 
So vile he 'scaped the doom which oft avenges ; 
And being fluent (save indeed when fee'd 
ill), 
He lied with such a fervour of intention — 
There was no doubt he earn'd his laureat* 
pension. 

LXXXI. 

But he had genius, — when a turn-coat has it 

The " Vates irritabilis" takes care 

That without notice few full moons shall pass 

it; [stare: — 

Even good men like to make the public 

But to mv subject — let me see — what was 

it?— 

Oh ! — the third canto — and the pretty pair — 

Their loves, and feasts, and house, and dress, 

and mode 
Of living in their insular abode. 

LXXXII 

Their poet, a sad trimmer, but no less 
In company a very pleasant fellow, 

Hud been the favourite of fidl many a mess 
Of men, and made them speeches when 
half mellow ; [guess. 

And though his meaning they could rarely 
Yet still they deign 'd to hiccup or to bellow 

The glorioiis meed of popular applause 

Of which the first ne'er knows the second 



LXXXIII. 

But now being lifted into high society. 

And having pick'd up several odds and end* 

Of free thoughts in his travels for variety. 
He deeni'd, being in a lune isle, amsDg 
friends. 



Si68 



I)GN JUAN. 



That without any danger of a riot, he 

Might for long lying make himself amends; 
And singing as he sung in his warm youth, 
Agi-ee to a short armistice with truth. 



I|e had travell'd 'mongst the Arabs, Turks,^ 
and Franks, [nations ; 

And knew the self-loves of the different 
And having lived vith people of all ranks, 

Had something ready upon most occasions— 
Wliich got' him a few presents and some thanlts. 

He varied with some skill his adulations ; 
To " do at Rome as Romans do," a piece 
Of conduct was which he observed in Greece. 

LXXXV. 

Thus, usually when he was ask'd to sing. 
He gave the different nations something 
national ; [king," 

'T was all the same to him — " God save the 
Or " Ca ira," according to the fashion all : 

His muse made increment of any thing, 
From the high lyric doM'n to the low rational ; 

If Pindar sang horse-races, what should hinder 

Himself from being as pliable as Pindar ? 

LXXXVI. 

In France, for instance, he would write a 
chanson ; 
In England a six canto quarto tale ; 
In Spain, he 'd make a ballad or romance on 
The last war — much the same in Portugal ; 
In Germany, the Pegasus he 'd prance on 
Would be old Goethe's — (see what says De 
Stael); 
In Italy, he 'd ape the " Trecentisti ;" 
In Greece, he'd sing some sort 'of hymn like 
this t 'ye : 

1. 

The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece ! 

Where burning Sappho loved and sung, 
Where grew the aits of war and peace, — 

Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung ! 
Eternal summer gilds them yet. 
But all, except their sun, is set. 



The Scian58 and the Teian^S muse. 
The hero's harp, the lover's lute, 

Have found the fame your shores refuse ; 
Their place of birth alone is mute 

To sounds which echo further west 

Than your sires' " Islands of the Blest." 



The mountains look on Marathon— 
And Marathon looks on the sea^ 

And musing there an hour alone, 
I dream'd that Greece might still be 

For standing on the Persians' grave. 

I could not deem myself a slave. - . 



A king sate on the rocky brow '--" 
Which looks o'er sea-bom Salamis; 

And ships, by thousands, lay below 
And men in nations ;— all were his ! 

He counted them at break of day — • . •- 

And when the sun set where were' th^cy ? 



And where are they ? and where art thoe 
My country ? On thy voiceless 3l.ore 

The heroic lay is timel-ess now — 
The heroic bosom beats no more ! 

And mnst thy lyre, so long divine. 

Degenerate into hands like mine? 



T is something in the dearth of fame, 
Though link'd among a fetter'd race. 

To feel at least a patriot's shame. 
Even as I sing, suffuse my face; 

For what is left the poet here ? 

For Greeks a blush — for Greece a tear. 

7. 

Must we but weep o'er days more blest ? 

Must we but blush? — Our fath^-rs bled 
Earth! render back from out thy breast 

A remnant of our Spartan dead ! 
Of the three hundred grant but thrje, 
To make a new Thermopylae ! 

8. 

What, silent still? and silent all? 

Ah ! no ; — the voices of the dead 
Sound like a distant torrent's fall. 

And answer, " Let one living head, 
But one arise, — we come, we come !" 
'T is but the living who are dumb. 

y. 

In vain — in vain, strike other chords ; 

Fill high the cu]> with Sainian wine '■ 
Leave battles to the Turkish hordes, 

And shed the blood of Scrio's vine! 
Hark ! rising to the i^ioble call- 
How answers each bold Bacchanal * 



DON JUAN. 



369 



10. 

You hare the Pyrrhic daiice as yet, 
Where is the Pynhic phalanx gone ? 

Of two such lessons, why forget 
The nobler and the manlier one ? 

1 JU have the letters Cadmus gave — 

'' *iink ye he meant theiu for a slave ? 

11. 

Fill high the bowl with Samian wine . 

We wili not think of themes like these ! 
It made Anacreou's song divine : 

He served— -but served Polycrates — 
A tyrant ; but our masters then 
Were still, at least, our countrymen. 

12. 

The tyrant of the Chersonese 

Was freedom's best and bravest friend ] 
Thai tyrant was Miltiades ! 

Oh 1 that tlie present hour would lend 
Another despot of tire kind ! 
Such chains as his were sure to bind. 

13. 

Fill high the bowl with Samian wine ' 
On Suli's rock, and Parga's shore, 

Exists the remnant of a line 

Such as the Doric mothers bore ; 

And there, perhaps, some seed is sown. 

The Heracleidaii blood might own. 

14. 

Trust not for freedom to the Franks — 
They have a king who buys and sells : 

4n native swords, and native ranks. 
The only hope of courage dwells ; 

But Tui-kish force, and Latin fraud, 

Wt>ul«l break youi- shield, however broad. 

15. 

Fill high the bowl with Samian wine ! 

Our virgins dance beneath the shade — 
{ see their glorious black eyes shine ; 

But gazing on each glowing maid, 
My own the burning tear-drop laves, 
To tiiink such breasts must suckle slaves. 

16. 

Place me on Suniuins marbled steep, 

Where nothing, save the waves and I, 
May hear our nmtual murmurs sweep ; 

There, swan-like, let me sing and die: 
A land of slaves shall ne'er be mine- 
Dash down yon cup of Samian wine ! 

25 



LXXXTtl. 

Thus sung, or would, or could, or should have 
sung. 
The modern Greek, in tolerable verse ; 
If not like Orpheus quite, when Greece waa 
young, [worse • 

Yet in these times he might have done muc^ 
His sti-ain displayd some feeling — right or 
wrong ; 
And feeling, in a poet, is the source 
Of others' feeling ; but they are sucL liars, 
And take all colom-s — like 'th<i hands of dyew 

LXXXVIIl. 

But words are things, and asmali dropofiuk^ 
Falling like dew, upon a thought produces 

That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, 

ti:ink; [uses 

'Tis strange, the shortest letter which lumv 

Instead of speech, may form a lasting link 
Of ages ; to what straits old Time reduces 

Frail man, when paper — even a rag like ihis 

Survives himself, his tomb, and all that s his. 

LXXXIX. 

And when his bones are dust, his grave ablauK 
His station, generation, even his nation, 

Become a thing, or nothing, save to rank, 
In chronological commemoration, 

Some dull MS. oblivion long has sauK, 

Or graven stone found in a barrack's k-tatio* 

In digging the foundation of a closet, 

May tui-n his name up as a raie deposit. 



And gloiy long has made the sages smile; 

'Tis something, nothing, words, illusion 
wind — 
Depending moie upon the historian's style 

1 han on the name a person leaves behind 
Troy owes to Homer what whist owes to Hoyle 

I'he present century was growing blind 
To the great Marlborough's skill in giving 

knocks. 
Until his late Life by Archdeacon Coxe 



Milton *s the prince of poets — so we say , 
A little heavy, but no less divine : 

An independent being in his day — 

Learn'd, pious, temperate in love and wine; 

But his life falling into Johnson s wav. 
We re'told this great high priest ofall the Nine 

Was whipt at college — a harsh aire — odd 
spouse, 

Foi the fitst Mrs. Milton left his house. 
2b 



370 



DON JUAN. 



All these are, eertes, ente/taining facts, 

Like Shakspeaie's stealing deer, Lord Ba^ 
coil's bribes ; 
Dke Titus' youth, and Caesar's earliest acts ; 
Like Burns (whom Doctor Carrie well de- 
scribes); 
Like Cioniwell's pranks ; — but although truth 
exacts 
Thi-ise amiable descriptions from the scribes. 
As most essential to their hero's story, 
They do not much contribute to his glory. 



All are not moralists, Uke Southey, when 
He prated to the world of " Panlisocrasy;" 

Or Wordsworth unexcised, unhired,who then 
Season'd hispedlai" poems with democracy; 

Or Cole idge, long before his flighty pen 
Let to the Morning Post its aristocracy ; 

When he and Southey, following the same 
path, 

Espoused two partners (milliners of Bath). 



S^ich names at present cut a convict figure. 
The very Botany Bay in moral geography; 

Their loyal treason, renegado rigour, [graphy ; 
Are good manure for their more bare bio- 

Wordsworth's last quarto, by the way , is bigger 
Than any since the birthday of typogra]>hy ; 

A diowsy frowzy poem, call'd the " Excur- 
sion," 

Wn't in a manner which is my aversion. 

xcv. 
He there builds up a formidable dyke 

Between his own and others' intellect ; 

But Wordsworth's poems, and his followers, 

like 

Johann" Southcote's Shiloh, and her sect, 

Are t'' r-g.s which in this century con't strike 

Tho public mind — so few are the elect ; 
And the new births of both their stale virgin- 

ities 
Have proved but dropsies, tal en for divinities. 



But let me to mj"- story : I must own. 
If I have any fault, it is digression — 

I eaving my people to proceed alone, 
While I soliloquise beyond expression ; 

But th'^ic are my addresses from the throne, 
Which put offbusiness to the ensuingsession: 

Forgetting each omission is a loss to 

The world, not quite so great as Ariosto. 



XCVII. 

I know that what oui neighbours call "Ion 
gueurs," itking, 

(We 've not so good a word, but have lh« 
In that complete perfection which ensures 

An epic from Bob Southey every spring — ) 
Form not the true temptation which allures 

The reader; but t would not be hard tr 
bring 
Some fine examples of the epopee, 
To prove its grand ingredient is, ennui 

XCVIII. 

We learn from Horace, " Homer sometimes 
sleeps;" [wakes. — 

Wefeel withoutlxim, Wordsworth sometimes 
To show with what complacency he creeps, 

With his dear " Waggoners," around his lakes. 
He wishes for " a boat" to sail the deeps — 

Of ocean? — No, of air; and then he. makes 
Another outcry for " a little boat," 
And di'ivels seas to set it well aiioaL 

xcix. 
If he must fain sweep o'er the ethereal plain, 

AndPegasus runsrestiveinhis "Waggon," 
Could he not beg the loan of Charles's Wain? 

Or pray Medea for a single dragon ? 
Or if too classic for his vuig^u* brain. 

He fear'd his neck to ventui-e such a nag on, 
And he mustneeds mount nearer to the moon, 
Could not the blockhead ask for a balloon? 

c. 
" Pedlars," and " Boats," and " Waggons T 
Oh! ye shades 

Of Pope and Dry den, are we come to this? 
That trash of such sort not alone evades 

Contempt, but from the bathos' vast abyss 

Floats scumlike uppermost, and these Jack 

Cades [hiss — 

Of sense and song above your graves may 
The " httle boatman" and hi.s •' Peter Bell" 
Can sneer at him who drew " Achitophel!" 

ci. 
T' our tale. — The feast was over, the slaves 
gone. 

The dwarfs and dancing girls had ill reared ; 
The Arab lore and poet's song were done, 

And every sound of revelry expired ; 
The lady and her lover, left alone, 

The rosy flood of twilight's sky admired?— 
Ave Maria! o'er the earth and sea, [^thee' 
That heavenliest hour of H ^aven is worthies! 

CII. 

Ave Maria! blessed be the hour; 

The time, the clime, the spot, where I so soil 
Have felt that moment in its fullest power 

Sink o'w the earth so beautiful and ix)ft 



DON JUAN. 



371 



While swung the deep bell in the distant 

tower. 
Or the faint dying day-hymn stole aloft, 
And not a breath crept through the rosy air, 
And yet the forest leaves seem slirr'd with 

prayer. 

cm. 
.J ve Maria I 't is the hour of prayer I 
Ave Maria! 'tis the hour of love ! 
Ave Maria! may our spirits dare 

Look up to thine and to thy Son's above ! 
Ave Maria ! oh that face so fair I 

Those downcast eyes beneath the Almighty 
dove — 
WTiat though 'tis but a pictured image? — 

strike — 
That painting is no idol, — 'tis too like. 



Whate'erof peace about ourhearthstor.eclingg 
Whate'er our household gods protect of dear 
Are gather'd nund us by thy look of rest ; 
Thou biing'st I le child, too', to the mother '§ 
breast. 



Soft hour ! which wakes the wisn ana taetTA 
the heart 

Of those who sail the seas, on the first tiay 
WTien they from their sweet friends are torn 
apart; 

Or fills with love the pilgrim on his way 
As the far bell of vesper makes him start, 

Seeming to weep the dying day's decay ; 
Is this a fancy which our reason scorns?. 
Ah ! surely nothing dies but something mourns! 



Some kinder casuists are pleased to say, 

In nameless print — that I have no devotion; 
BlI set those persons down with me to pray, 

And you shall see who has the properest 
notion 
Of getting into heaven the shortest way ; 

My altars are the mountains and the ocean, 
Earth, air, stars — all that springs from the 

great Whole, 
Who hath produced, and will receive the soul. 

cv. 
Sweet hour of twilight ! — in the solitude 

Of the pine forest, iuid the silent shore 
Which bounds Ravenna's immemorial wood, 

Rooted where once the Adrian waveflow'd 
o'er, 
To where the last Caesarean fortress stood, 

Evergreen forest! which Boccaccio's lore 
And Dryden's lay made haunted ground to me. 
How have I loved the twilight hour and thee I 

cvi. 
The shiill cicalas, people of the pine, [song, 

Making their summer lives one ceaseless 
Were the sole echoes, save my steed's and mine, 

And vesper bell's that rose the boughs along ; 
The spectre huntsman of Onesti's line, 

His hell-dogs, and their chase, and the fair 
throng 
Which learn'd from this example not to fly 
From a true lover — shadow'd my mind's eye. 

CVII. 

Oh, Hesperus ! thou bringest all good things — 

Home to the v>eary, to the hungry cheer, 
To the young bird the parent's brooding 

wings, 
The welcome stall fo the o'erlabourd steer; 



When Nero perish 'd by the justcst doom 
Which ever the destroyer yet destroy 'd, 

Amidst the roar of liberated Rome, 

Of nations freed, and the world overjoy'd, 

Some hands unseen strew'd flowers upon his 
tomb: 
Perhaps the weakness of a heart not void 

Oi' feeling for some kindness done, when power 

Had left the wretch an uncorrupted hour. 



But I 'm digressing; what on earth has Nero, 
Or any such like sovereign buffoons, 

To do with the transactions of my hero, 
More than such madmen's fellow man — th^ 
moon's ? 

Sure my invention must be down at zero, 
And I grown one of many " wooden spoons" 

Of verse (the name with which we Cantabt 
please 

To dub the last of honours in degrees). 



I feel this tediousness will never do — 
'Tis being too epic, and I must cut dowo 

(In copying) this long canto into two ; 
They '11 never find it out, unless 1 own 

The fact, excepting some experienced lew ; 
And then as an improvement 't will be shown • 

I'll prove that such the opinion of the critic it 

From Aristotle /J a««J7n. — See IlMtirMnt. 



2 B 3 



372 



DON JUAN. 



Bon 3juan. 



My own meaning when I would be very fine 
But the fact is that I have nothing plan»i'd 
Dnless it were to be a moment merry, 
A novel word in mv vocabularv. 



CANTO THE FOURTH. 



Nothing so difficult as a beginning 
In poesy, unless perhaps the end ; 

For ol'tentimes when Pegasus seems winning 
The race, he sprains a wing, and down wt 
tend, [ning ; 

Like Lucifer when hurl'd from heaven for sin 
Our sin the same, and hard as his to mend, 

Being pride, which leads the mind to soar too 
far, 

"a ill our own weakness shows us what we are. 

ir. 
Hut Time, which brings all beings to their level, 

And sharp Adversity, will teach at last 
Man, — and, as we would hope,— perhap? the 
devil, 
That neither of their intellects are vast: 
While youth's hot wishes in our red veins revel. 
We know not this — the blood flows on too 
fast ; 
But as the torrent widens towards the ocean. 
We ponder deeply on each past emotion, 

III. 
As boy, I thought myself a clever fellow, 

And wish'd that others hekl thesame opinion; 

They took it up when my days grew more 

mellow, [nion; 

And other minds acknowledged my domi- 
Now my sere fancy " I'alls into the yellow 

Leaf," and Imagination droops her pinion 
And the sad truth which hovers o'er my desk 
Turns what was once romantic to burlesque. 

IV. 

And if I laugh at any mortal thing, 
. T is that I may not weep ; and if I weep, 
T is that our nature cannot always bring 
■ Itself to apathy, for we must steep 
Our hearts first in the depths of Lethe's spring. 

Ere what we least \\ ib.h to behold will sleep : 
Thetis baptized her mortal son in Styx jS*-* 
<l mortal mother would on Leth*. fix. 

V. 
Some have accused me of a strange (ie:.:gn 

Against the creed and morals of tlio land, 
A.nd trace it in this poem every lino: 

I don't pretend that I quite understand 



To the kind reader of our sober clime 
This way of writing will appear exotic ; 

Pulci was sire of the half-serious rhyme, 
Who s^ng when chivalry was more Quixotic 

And revell'd in the fancies of the time, 

True knights, chaste dames, huge giantai 
kings despotic ; 

But all these, save the last, being obsolete, 

I chose a modem subject as more meet 

VII. 

How I have treated it, I do not know; 

Perhaps no better than they have treated me^ 
Who have imputed such designs as show 

Not what they saw, but what they wishd 
to see • 
But if it gives them pleasure, be it so; 

This is a liberal age, and thoughts are free 
Meantime Apollo plucks me by the ear. 
And tells me to resume my story here. 

VIII 

Young Juan and his lady-love were left 
To their own hearts' most sweet society; 

Even Time the pitiless in sonow cleft 

With his rude scythe such gentle bosoms , he 

Sigh'd to behold them of their hours bereft, 
Though foe to love ; and yet they could not be 

Meant to grow old, but die in happy spring. 

Before one charm or hope had taken wing. 

IX. 

Their faces were not made for wrinkles, their 
Pure blood to stagnate, their great hearts to 
fail; 

The blank grey was nut made to blast their hail 
But like the climes that know nor snow noi 
hail 

They were all summei : lightning might assail 
And shiver them to ashes, but to trail 

Along and snake like li;e of dull decay 

Was not for them — they had loo little clay. 

X. 

They were alone once more ; for them to be 
Thus w^as anotner Eden ; they were never 

Weary, unless when separate : the tree 
T'ut from its forest root of years — the river 

Damm'd from its fountain — the child from the 

knee . ^ [ever,— 

And breast maternal wean'd at once iot 

Would wither less than these two torn apart } 

Alas 1 tlicre is no instinct like the heait— 



DOX JUAN. 



373 



The heart — which may be broken : happythey ! 

Thrice foiuuiate 1 who of tluit fragile mould, 
The profious porcelain of human clay, 

Break \v ith die tirst ;all : they can ne'er behold 
The long year link'd with heavy day on day, 

And all which must be borne, and never told ; 
While life's strange principle will often lie 
Deepest in those who long the most to die. 

XII. 

*• Whom the gods love die young," was said 
of yore,^' 

And many deaths do they escape by this : 
The death of friends, and that which slays 
even more — 

The death of friendship, love, youth, all that is, 
Except mere breatli ; and since the silent shore 

Awaits at last even those who longest miss 
The old archer's shafts, perhaps the early grave 
Which men weep over may be meant to save. 

xirr. 
Hfidee and Juan thought not of the dead. 
The heavens, and earth, and air, seem'd 
made for them : 
They found no fault with Time, save thathe fled ; 
They saw not in themselves aught to con- 
demn : 
Each was the other's miiTor, and but read 

Joy sparkling in their dark eyes like a gem. 
And knew such brightness was but the reflection 
Of their exchanging glances of afiection. 



The gentle pressure, and the thrilling touch, 
The least glance better understood than 
words, [much ; 

\Miich still said all, and ne'er could say too 

A language, too. but like to that of birds, 
Known but to them, at least appearing such 

As but to lovers a true sense affords ; 
Sweet playful phrases, which would seem 
absurd 
o those w ho have ceased to hear such, or 
ne er heard : 



All these were theirs, for they were childien 
still, [been ; 

And children still they should have ever 
They were not made in the real world to fill 

A busy character in the dull scene. 
But like two beings born from out a rill, 

A nymj)h and her beloved, all unseen 
To pass their lives in fountains and on flowers, 
And ne%'er know the weight of hum,'-n hours. 



Moons changing had roU'd on, and changeless 
found [j(»ya 

Those tlieir bright rise had lighted to such 
As rarely they beheld throughout theii round; 
And these were not of the vain kind which 
cloys. 
For theirs were buoyant spirits, never bounc 
By the mere senses ; and that which de 
stroys 
Most love, possession, unto them appear'd 
A thing which each endeannent more endear d. 

XVII. 

Oh beautiful! and rare as beautiful ! 

But theirs was Jove in which the mind de. 
lights 
To lose it>eir, wjen the old world grows dull, 
And we are sick of its back sounds and 
sights. 
Intrigues, adventures of the common school. 
Its petty passions, marriages, and flights, 
Where Hymen's torch but brands one sti"um 

pet more. 
Whose husband only knows her not a wh — re. 

XVIII. 

Hard words ; harsh truth ; a truth which many 
know. 

Enough.— The faithiul and the fairy pair, 
Who never found a single hour too slow, 

What was it made them thus exempt fronc 
care ? 
Young innate feelings all have felt below, 

Which perish in the re>t, but in them wtre 
Inherent ; what we mortals call romantic, 
And always envy, though we deem it frantic. 



This is in others a factitious state. 

An opium dream of too much youth and 
reading. 

But was in them their nature or their fate: 
No novels e'er had set their young hearts 
bleeding, [great. 

For Haidee's knowledge was by no means 
And Juan was a bo^ of saintly breeding; 

So that there was no reason for their loves 

More than for tiiose of nightingales or doves. 



They gazed upon Uie sunset; 'tis an hour 
Dear unto all, but dearest to their eyes, 

For it had made them what they were: th« 

power [such skiei. 

Of love had first o'erwhelmVi them ftftxe 



■i74 



DON JUAN. 



When h&ppmess cad been their only dower, 

And twilight saw them link'd in passion's 

ties ; [that brought 

Charm'd with each other, all things chaiTa'd 

The past still welcome as the present thonght. 

XXI. 

1 ktiow not why, but in that hour to-night, 
Even as they gazed, a siulden tremor came, 

And swept, as *t were, across their hearts' de- 
light. 
Like the wind o'er a harp-string, or a flame, 

When one is shook in sound, and one in sight ; 
And th'is somebodingfiash'dtlirough either 
Irame, 

And call'd from Juan's breast a faint low sigh, 

While one new tear arose in Haidee's eye. 

xxn. 
That large black prophet eye secm'd to dilate 

And follow far the disap})earing sim, 
As if their last day of a happy date 

With his broad, bright, and dropping orb 
were gone ; 
Juan gazed on her as to ask his fate — 

lie ielt a grief, but knowing cause for none, 
His glance inquired of hers for soHie excuse 
For feelings causeless, or at least abstruse. 

XXIII. 

She tnm'd to him, and smiled, but in that sort 
Which makes not others smile ; then turn'd 
aside : 

Whatever feeling shook her, it seem'd short. 
And masterd by her wisdom or her pride ; 

When Juan spoke, too — it might be in sport — 
Of this their mutual feeling, she replied — 

" If it should be so, — but — it cannot be — ■ 

Or I at least shall not survive to see." 



Juan would question further, but she press'd 
His lip to hers, and silenced him with this, 

And then disraiss'd the omen from her breast, 
Defying augury with that fond kiss ; 

And no doubt of all methods *t is the best • 
Some people prefer *wine — 't is not amiss ; 

I have tried both ; so those who would a part 
take, [heartache. 

Mav choose between the headache and tlie 



And if I had to give a casting Toice, v.. 4 

For both sides I could many rea.sons show ^ 
And then decide, without great wiong to eiihei 
It were nmch better tohaveboil than neither 



Juan and Haidee gazed upon each other , .-:^ 

With swimming looks of speechless U^nder-' 

ness, ^^b^c>ihfr, 

Which mix'd all feelings, friend, child, lover, 
.^11 that the best can mingle and express 

AVhen two pure hearts are pour'd in one ano 

ther, [less J 

And love too much, and yet can not love 

But almost sanctify the sweet excess 

By the immortal wish and power to bless. 

XXVII. 

Mix'd in each other's arms, and heartin heart, 
Why did they not then die ? — they had 
lived too long 

Should an hour come tojiid them breathe apart ; 
Years could bat bring them cruel things or 
■wrong ; 

The world was not for them, nor the world's Art 
For beings passionate as Sappho's song ; 

Love was born with them, in them, so intense. 

It was their very sjwrit — not a sense. 

xxvni. 

They should have lived together deep in woods, 
Unseen as sings the nightingale: they were 

Unfit to mix in these thick solitudes 

Call'd social, haunts of Hate, and Vice, and 
Care : 

How lonely every freebom creature broods ! 
The SAveetest song-birds nestle in a pair ; 

The eagle soars alone ; the gull and crow 

Flock o'er their carrion, just like men below. 

XXIX. 

Now piliow'd cheek to cheek, in loving .sleep, 
Haidee and Juan their siesta took, 

A gentle slumber, but it was not deep, 
For ever and anon a something shook 

Juan, and shuddering o'er his frame would 

creep ; [brook. 

And Haiciee's sw^eet lips muiTOur'd like a 

A wordless music, and her face so fair 

Stirr'd with her dream, as rose-leaves with the 
air ; 



One of the two, according to your choice, 
Woman or wine, you '11 have to undergo ; 

Both maladies are taxes on our joys : 

But which to choose I really haidly know ; 



Or as the stirring of a deep clear stream 
Within an .\lpiue hollow, when tlie wina 

Walks o'er it, was she shaift»n by the dieam. 
The ;vystieal usurper of the mind — 



DON JUAN. 



375 



Oer^towering us to be whute er may seem 
(jiitttl to ihe soul which we uo more can 
bind; 
Siraugt; stale of being ! (for 't is still to be) 
Senseless to feel, and with seal'd eyes to see. 



Jhc dream'd of being alone on the sea-shore, 
Chain'd to a rock ; she knew not how, but 
siir 
She could not fror the spot, and the loud roar 
Grew, and each wa\e rose roughly, threat- 
ening her ; 
And o'er her upper lip they seem'd to pour, 
Until she sobb'd for breath, and soon they 
were [high — 

Foaming o'er her lone head, so fierce and 
Each broke to drown her, vet she could not 
die. 

XXXII. 

Anon — she was released, and then she stray'd 
O'er tlie sharp shingles with her bleeding 
I'eet, 

A?id stumbled almost every step she made : 
And so^nethiiig roll'd before her in a sheet. 

Which she must still pursue howe'er afraid : 
'Twas white and indistinct, nor stopp'd to 
meet • [gvasp'd, 

Her glance nor grasp, for still she gazed and 

And ran, but it escaped her as she clasp'd. 



The dream changed : — in a cave she stood, its 
wails 
^^^lere hung with marble icicles ; thp work 
Of ages on its water-fretted halls, 

"Where waves might wash, and seals might 

breed and lurk ; 

Her hair was dripping, and the veiy balls 

Of her black eyes .seem'd turn'd to tears, 

and mirk [caught. 

The shaip rocks look'd below each drop they 

VTiich froze to marble as it fell, — she thought. 

XXXIV. 

And wet, ant: cold, and lifeless at her feet. 
Pale as li.j foam that froi'd on his dead 
brow, [sweet 

W^.ich she essay 'd in vain to clear, (how 
Were once her caies, how idle seem'd they 
now !) 
Lay Juan, nor could aught renew the beat 
Of his quench'd heart; and the sea dirges 
low- 
Rang in her sad ears like a mermaid's song. 
And that brief dream appear 'd a life too long. 



XXXV. 

And gazing on the dead, she thought his face 
Faded, or alter'd into something new — 

Like to her father's leatures, till each trace 
More like and iiketoLambro's aspect grew— 

"With all his keen worn look and Grecian grace; 
And starting, slie awoke, and what to view? 

Oh! Powers of Heaven ! whatdark eye meet ■« 
she there? 

'T is — 't is her father's — fix'd upon the pair I 

XXXVI. 

Then shrieking, she arose, and shi-ieking fell. 

W'nh joy and sorrow, hope and fear, to see 
Him whom she dcem'd a habitant where dwell 

The ocean-buried, risen from death, to be 
Perchance the death of one she loved too well : 

Dear as her father had been to Haidee, 

It was a moment of that awful kind 

I have seen such — but must not call to mind. 

XXXVII. 

Up Juan sprung to Haidee's bitter shriek. 
And caught her falling, and from oil' the 
wall 
Snatch'd down his sabre, in hot haste to wreak 
Vengeance on him who was the cause oi 
all: 
Then Lambro, who till now forbore to speak, 
Smiled scomfuily, and said, " Within m\ 
call, 
A thousand scimitars await the word ^ 
Put up, young man, put up your sillj'-^rord. " 

XXXVIII. 

And Haidee clung around him ; " Juan, 't is — 
'T is Lambro — 't is my lather ! Kneel with 
me — 

He will Ibrgive us — yes — it must be — yes. 
Oh I dearest father, in this agony 

Of pleasure and of pain — even while I ki.ss 
Thy garment's hem with transport, can it be 

That doubt shoukl mingle with my filial joy ? 

Deal with me as thou wilt, but spare this boy." 



High and inscrutable the old man stood. 

Calm in his voice, and calm within his eye- 
Not always signs with him of calmest mood : 

He look'd upon her, but gave no reply ; 
Then turn'd to Juan, in whose cheek the blood 
Olt came and went, as there resolved to die ; 
In aims, at least, he stood, in act to spring 
On the first foe whom Larabio's call mighi 
bring. 



376 



DON JtJAN. 



" Yoiuig man, your sword ;" so I,ambro once 

more said : 
Juau replied, " Not while this arm is free." 
he old man's cheek grew pale, but not with 

dread, 
And drawing from his belt a pistol, he 
Replied, " Youi- blood be then on your own 
head." 
Then look'd close at the flint, as if to see 
T was fresh — for he had lately used the lock — 
And next proceeded quietly to cock. 

XLI. 

It has a strange quick jar upon the ear. 
That cocking of a pistol, when you know 

A moment more will bring the sight to bear 
Upon your person, twelve yards off, or so; 

A gentlemanly distance, not too near, 
If you have got a former friend for foe ; 

But after being fired at once or twice, 

The ear becomes more Irish, and less nice. 



Lambro presented, and one instant more 
Had stopp'd this Canto, and Don Juan's 
brealh. 
When Haidee threw herself her boy before ; 
Stern as her sire : " On me," she i-ried, " let 
death 
Descend— the fault is mine ; this fatal shore 
He found — but sought not. 1 have pledged 
r,"./ faith ; 
I love him — I will die with him: I knew 
Your nature's fii'mness — know yom- duughta-'s 
too." 

XLIII. 

A minute past, and she had been all tears, 
And tenderness, and infancy ; but now 

She stood as one who champion' d human 

fears — [blow ; 

Pale, statue-like, and stern, she wood the 

And tall beyond her sex, and their compeers, 
She drew up to her height, as if to show 

A fairer mark; and with a fix'd eye scann'd 

Her father's face — but never stopp'd his hand. 

XLIV. 

He gazed on her, and she on him ; 't was 
strange [the same ; 

How lilce they look'd ! the expression was 
Serenely savage, with a little cliange 

In the large dark eye'smutual-darted flame; 
For she, too, was as one who could avenge. 

If cause should be — a lioness, though tame, 
Her father's blood before her father's face 
Ivoil'd up, and proved her tnily of Ks tuce. 



I said they were alike, their features and 
Their stature, diflering but in sex and yearaj 

Even to the delicacy of their hand 

There was resemblance, such as true blood 
wears ; 

And now to see them, thus divided, stand 
In fix'd ferocity, when joyous tears. 

And sweet sensations, should have wtlconj.ed 
both, [growth 

Show what the passions are in their full 

Xi.VI. 

The father paused a moment, then Avitbdrew 
His weapon, and replaced it; but stood still 

And looking on her, as to look her through. 
" Not J," he said, " have sought this 
stranger's ill; 

Not / have made this desolation: few- 
Would bear such outrage, and forbear t< 
kill; 

But I must do my duty — how thou hast 

Done thine, the present vouches for the past. 



" Let him disarm; or by my father's head, 
His own shall roll before you like a ball !" 

He raised his whistle, as the word he said, 
And blew, another answer'd to the call, 

And rushing in disorderly, though led. 

And arm'd from boot to turban, one and all. 

Some twenty of his train came, rank on rank; 

He gave the word,—" AiTest or slay the Frank." 

XI.VIXI. 

Then, with a sudden movement, he withdrew 
His daughter; while compress'd within his 
clasp, 

'T wixt her and Juan interposed the crew ; 
In vain she struggled in her father's grasp — 

His arms were like a sei-pent's coil : then fle'w 
Upon their prey, as darts an angiy asp, 

The file of pirates ; save the foremost, who 

Had fallen, with his right shoulder half cu* 
thi-ough. 

XLIX. 

The second had his cheek laid open ; bui 
The third, a wary, cool old sworder, took. 

The blows upon his cutlass, and then put 
His own well in ; so well, ere you could loo'g 

His man was floor'd, and helpless at his I'oot 
With the blood running like a little brook 

From two smart sabre gashes, deep luid red— 

One on the ann, the other on the head 



DON JUAN. 



377 



L. 

And then they bound him where he fell, and 
bure 
Juan from the apartment: with a sign 
Old Lanibro bade them take him to the shore, 
Where lay some ships which were to sail 
at nine. 
They laid him in a boat and plied the oar 
Until ihcy reach'd some galliots, placed in 
line; 
On board of <me of these, and under hatches. 
They slow'd him, with sUict orders to the 
watches. 

II. 

The world is full of strange vicissitudes. 

And here was one exceedingly unpleasant: 
A gentleman so rich in the world's goods, 
Handsome and young, enjoying all the 
present, 
Just at the very time when he least broods 
Oa such a thing is su.idenly to sea sent, 
Wounded and chain'd, so that "he cannot move, 
'And all because a lady fell in love. 



Here I must leave him, for I gi-ow pathetic. 
Moved by the Chinese nymph of tears, 
green tea ! 

Than whom Cassandra was not more prophetic; 
For if my pure libations exceed three, 

T fee; my heart become so sympathetic. 

That I must have recourse to black Bohea: 

'T is pity wine should be so deleterious, 

For tea and coll'ce leave us much more serious. 



Unless when qualified with thee, Cogniac ! 

Sweet Naiad of the Phiegethontic rill! 
Ah ! why the liver wilt thou thus attack. 

And make, like other nyrnphs, thy lovers ill ? 
"I would take refuge in weak punch, but rack 

(In each sense of the word), whene er I fill 
My mild and midnight beakers to the brim, 
Wakes me next morning with its synonym. 



I leave Don Juan for the present safe — 
Norsound,poor feaow, butsevcrel? wounded ; 

Yet could his corporal pangs amount to half 
Of those with which his Haidee's bosom 
bounded! 

She was not one to weep, and rave, and chafe, 
And then give way, subdued because sur- 
rounded ; 

Her mother was a Moorish maid, from Fez, 

Where all is Eden, or a wilderness. 



There the large olive rains its amber store 
In marble fonts ; there grain, and liowef 
and fruit. 

Gush from the earth until the land runs b'er ; 
But there, too, many a poison-tree has root 

And midnight listens to the lion's roar, 

And long, long deserts scorch the camel's foot 

Or heaving whelm the helpless caravan; 

And as the soil is, so the heart of man. 



Afric is all the sun's, and as her earth 

Pier human clay is kindled ; full of power 

For good or evil, burning I'rom its birth, 
The Moorish blood partakes the planet's hour, 

And like the soil beneath it will bring forth : 
Beauty and love were Haidee's mother's 
dower; [force, 

B u her large dark eye show'd deep Passion's 

Though sleeping like a lion near a source. 



Her daughter, temper'd with a milder ray, 
Like summer clouds all silvery, smooth* and 
fair, 

Till slowly charged with thunder they display 
Terror to earth, and tempest to the air. 

Had held till now her soft and milky way ; 
But overwrought with passion and despair, 

The fire burst forth from her Numidiaii veins. 

Even as the Simoom sweeps the blasted plains. 

LVIII. 

The last sight which she saw was Juan's gore, 
And he himself o'ermaster'd and cut down; 

His blood was running on the very floor 
Where late he trod, her beautiful, her own; 

Thus much she view'd an instant and n( 

more, — [groan 

Her struggles ceased with one convulsive 

On her sire's arm, which until now scarce held 

Her writhing, fell she like a cedar fell'd. 



A vein had burst, and her sw^eet lips' pure d j'es 
Were dabbled with the deep blood which 
ran o'er; 
And her head droop'd as when the lily lies 
O'erchai-jjed with rain : her summon 'd hand- 
maids bore 
Their lady to her couch with gushing eyes ; 
Of herbs and cordials they produced' theii 
store, 
But she defied all means they could employ. 
Like one life ?oukl not hold, nor death desfoy 



O i 



DON JUAN. 



Days lay she in that state unchanged, though 
chill— 

With nothing livid, still her lips were red ; 
She had no pulse, but death seem'd absent still; 

No hideous sign proclaim'd her surely dead; 
Corruption came not in each mind to kill 

All hope ; to look upon her sweet face bred 
New thoughts of life, for it seem'd full of soul — 
She had so much, earth could not claim the 
whole. 

LXI, 

The ruling passion, such as marble shows 
When exquisitely chisell'd, still lay there. 

But fix'd as marble's unchanged aspect throws 
O'er the fair Venus, but for ever fair; 

O'er the Laocoon's all eternal throes, 
And ever-dying Gladiator s air, 

Their energy like life forms all their fame, 

Vel looks not hfe, for they are still the siune. — 

I.XII. 

She woke at length, but not as sleepers wake, 
Kather the dead, for life seem'd something 
new, 

A strange sensation which she must partake 
Perforce, since whatsoever met her view 

Struck not her memory, though a heavy ache 

Lay at her heart, whose earliest beat still 

tine [cause, 

Brought back the sense of pain without the 

For, for a while, the furies made a pause. 

LXIII. 

She look'd on many a face with vacant eye, 
Oil many a token without knowing what; 

She sav,' them watch her without asking uhy; 
And reck'd not who around her pillow sat ; 

Not speechless, though she spoke not; not a 

sigh [quick chat 

Relieved her thoughts; dull silence and 

Were tried in rain by those who served; she 
gave 

No sign, save breath, of having left the grave. 



Her handmaids tended, but she heeded not; 

Her father watch'd, she turn'd her eyes away ; 
She recognised no being, and no spot. 

However dear or cherish'd in their day; 
T.iey changed from room to room, but all for 
got, 

Gentle, but without memory she lay ; 
At length those eyes, which they would fain 
be weaning [meaning. 

Back to old thoughts, wax a full of fearful 



And then a slave bethought her of a harp ; 

The hai-per came, and tuned his insti'unieii^ 
At the first notes, irregular and sharp. 

On him her flashing eyes a moment bent, 
Then to the wall she turn'd as if to warp 

Her thoughts JVom sorrow through her hear' 
re-sent ; 
And he begun a long low island song 
Of ancient days, ere tyranny grew strong. 

LXVI. 

Anon her thin wan lingers beat the wall 
In time to his old tune; he changed the 
theme, [through all 

And sung of love; the fierce name struck 
iier recollection, on ner flush'd the ch-eam 

Of what she was, and is, if yc could call 
To be so bein<r; in a gushing stream 

The tears rush'd forth from her o'erclouded 
brain, [rain. 

Like mountain mists at length dissolved in 



Shou solace, vain relief! — thought came too 
quick. 

And w hirl'd her brain to madness ; she arose 
As one who ne'er had dwelt among the sick , 

And Hew at all she met, as on her foes; 
But no one ever heard her speak or shriek, 

Although her paroxysm drew towards its 
close ; — 
Hers was a frenzy which disdain'd to rave. 
Even when they smote hi r, in the hope to save. 

LXVIII. 

Yet she betray'd at times a gleam of sense ; 
Nothing could make her meet her father's 
face. 
Though on all other things with looks intense 
She gazed, but none she ever could retrace; 
Food slie refused, and raiment; no pretence ■ 
Avail'd for either; neither change of phice. 
Nor time, nor skill, nor remedy, could give her 
Senses to sleep — the power seem'd gone for 
ever. 

Lxrx. 
Twelve days and nights she wdther'd thus; dl 
last: 
Without a gi-oan, or sigh, or glance, to show 
A parting pang, the i>piiit from her past: 
And they who watch'd her nearest could not 
know 
The very instant, till the change that cast 

Her sweet face into shadow, dull and slow, 
Glazed o'er her eyes — the beautiful, the black— 
Oh I to possess such lustre — and then lack* 



DON JUAN. 



379 



She died, but not aione; she held within 
A second principle of life, which might 
Have dawn'd a fair and sinless child of sin; 

But closed its little being without light, 

And went down to the grave unborn, wherein 

, Blossom and bough lie wither'd with one 

blight; 

In vain the dews of Heaven descend above 

The bleeding flower and blasted fruit of love. 

I,XXI, 

Thus lived — thus died she ; never more on her 

Shall sorrow light, or shame. She was not 

made [bear, 

Through years or moons the inner weight to 
Which colder hearts endure till they are laid 

By age in earth: her days and pleasures were 
Brief, but delightful — such as riad not staid 

Long with her destiny; but she sleeps well 

By the sea-shore, whereon she loved to dwell. 

LXXII. 

That isle is now all desolate and bare, 

Its dwellings down, its tenants pass'd away; 

None but her own and father's grave is there, 
And nothing outward tells of human clay ; 

Ve could not know where lies a thing so fair. 
No stone is there to show, no tongue to say 

What was ; no dirge, except the hollow sea's, 

Mourns o'er the beauty of the Cyclades. 

LXXIIl. 

But many a Greek maid in a loving song 
Sighs o'er her name ; and many an islander 

With her sire's story makes the night less long; 
Valour was his, and beauty dwelt with her: 

If she loved rashly, her life paid for wrong — 
A. heavy price must all pay who thus err. 

In some shape; let none think to fly the danger. 

For soon or late Love is his own avenger. 

LXXIV. 

But lel -ne change this theme, which grows 
too sad. 

And lay this sheet of soitows on the shelf; 
1 don't much like describing people mad, 

For fear <;f seeming rather touch'd myself— 
Besides, I 've no more on this head to add ; 

And as my Muse is a capricious elf. 
We'll put about, and try another tack 
With Juan, left half-kill'd some stanzas back. 

LXXV. 

Wounded and fetter'd, " cabin'd, cribb'd, con- 
fined," 

Some days and nights elapsed before that he 
Could altogether call the past to mind ; 

And when he did, he found himself at sea, 



Sailing six knots an hour before the wind ; 

The shores of llion lay beneath iheir lee — 
Another time he might have liked to see 'em. 
But now was not much pleased with Cape 
Sigseum. 

LXXVI. 

There, on the green and village-cotted hill, is 
fFlank'd by the Hellespont^ and by the sea'* 

Entomb'd the bravest of the brave Achilles^ 
They s;iy so — (Bryant says the contrary): 

And further downward, taU and towering 

still, is [ t may be 

The tumulus — of whom ? Heaven knows ; 

Patroclus, Ajax, or Protesilans ; 

All heroes, who if living still would slay us 

LXXVII. 

High baiTows, without marble, or a name, 
A vast, untill'd, and mountain-skirted plain 

And Ida in the distance, still the same, 
And old Scamander, (if 'tis he) remain , 

The situation seenjs still form'd I'or fame — 
A hundred thousand men might fight again 

With ease: but where 1 sought for Iliou's 
walls 

The quiet sheep feeds, and the tortoise crawls , 

LXXVIIT 

Troops of nntended horses ; here and there 
Some little hamlets, with new names un- 
couth ; 
Some shepherds, (unlike Paris) led to stare 

A moment at the European youth 
Whom to the spot their school-boy feelings 
bear ; [mouth, 

A Tuik, with beads in hand, and pipe in 
Extremely taken with his own religion, 
Are what I found there — but the devil a Phry- 
gian. 

LXXIX, 

Don Juan, here permitted to emerge 

From his dull cabin, found himself a slaves- 
Forlorn, and gazing on the deep blue surge, 

O'ershadow'd there by many a hero's gmve ; 
Weak still with loss of blood, he scaire could 
urge 
A few brief questions; and the answers gave 
No very satisfactory information 
About his past or present situation 

LXXX. 

He saw some fellow captives, who appear 'J 
To be Italians, as they were in fact ; 

From them, at least, tkeir destiny he heard 
Which was an odd one ; a troop «vir 
act 



380 



DON JUAN. 



In Sicily — all singers, duly rear'd 

In their vocation ; had not been attack'd 
In sailing from Livorno by the pirate, 
But sold by the inipresaiio at no high rate. 

LXXXI. 

By one of these, the buffo of the party, 
Juan was told about their carious case ; 

For although destined to the Turkish mart, he 
Still kept his spirits up — at least his face; 

The little fellow really look'd quite hearty. 
And bore him with some gaiety and grace, 

Showing a much more reconciled demeanour. 

Than did the prima donna and the tenor. 

LXXXII. 

In a few words he told their hapless story. 
Saying, " Our Machiavelian impresario, 

Making a signal off some promontory, 

Hail'da strange brig; Coi-po di Caio Mario! 

Wc were transfeir'd on board her in a huiry, 
Without a single scudo of salario; 

But if the Sultan has a taste for song. 

We will revive our fortunes before long. 

LXXXIII. 

'Tho prima donna, though a little old. 
And haggard with a dissipated life, 

And subject, when the house is thin, to cold. 
Has some good notes ; and then the tenor's 
wi le. 

With no great voice, is pleasing to behold ; 
Last carnival she made a deal of strife 

By carrying off Count Cesare Cicogna 

From an old Roman princess at Bologna, 

LXXXIV. 

" And then there are the dancer ; there 's the 
Nini, 

With more than one profession gains by all ; 
Then there 's that laughing slut the Pelegi'ini, 

She. too. was fortunate last carnival, 
And made at least five himdred good zecchini. 

But .spends so fa.st, she has not now apaul ; 

And then there 's the Groteaca — such a 

dancer! [answer. 

Where men have souls or bodies she must 

I.XXXV. 

"As for the figuranti, they are like 

The rest of all that tribe ; with here and there 

A pretty person, which perhaps may strike, 
The rest are hardly fitted for a fair; 

There's one, though tall and stiffer than a pike. 
Yet has a sentimental kind of air 

Which might go far, but .she don't dance with 
vigour; 

The more 's the pity, with her face and figure. 



LXXXVl. 

" As for the men, ihey are a middling set, 
The musico is but a crack'd old basin. 

But being qualified in one way yet, 
May the seraglio do to set his face in. 

And as a servant some preferment get : 
His singing I no further trust can place in 

From all the Pope makes yeai-ly "t would perpleiE 

To find three perfect pipes of the third sex 

LXXXVII. 

" The tenor's voice is spoilt by affectation. 
And for the bass, the beast can only bellovv; 

In fact, he had no singing education, 

Anignorant,notcless,timeless,tunelessfelloWj 

But being the prima donna's near relation. 
Who swore his voice was very rich and 
mellow, [believe 

They hired him, though to hear him you 'd 

An ass was practising recitative. 

LXXXVIII. 

"'T would not become myself to dwell upon 
My own merits, and though young, — I see, 
Sir — you 
Have got a travell'd air, which speaks yon one 

To whom the opera is by no means new : 
You 've heard of Raucocauti ? — I'm the m;in ; 
The time may come when you may hear 
me too : 
You was not last year at the fair of Lugo, 
But next, when I'm engaged to sing there — 
do go. 

LXXXIX. 

" Our baritone I almost had forgot, 

A pretty lad, but bursting with conceit*. 

With graceful action, science not a jot, 

A voice of not great compass, and not sweety 

He always is complaining of his lot, 

Forsooth, scarce fit for ballads in the street; 

In lovers' parts his ])assion more to breathe, 

Having no heart to show, he shows his teeth." 

xc. 
Here Raucocauti 's eloquent recital 

Was interrupted by the pirate crew. 
Who came at stated moments to invite all 
The captives back to their sad berths ; each 
threw [all 

A nieful glance upon the waves, (which bright 
T^rom th.e bhie skies derived a double blue, 
Dancing all free and happy in the .sun,) 
And then went down the hatchway one by one. 

xci. 
They heard next day — that in the Dardjxnelles 

Waiting for his Sublimity's firman. 
The most imperative of sovereign .sjiells. 
Which every body does without who can, 



DON JUAN. 



88 



More to secure them in their naval cells, 

Lady to lady, well us man to man, 
Were to be chaiu'd and lotted out per couple 
Foi the slave market of Constantinople. 

XCII 

h seems when this allotment was made out. 

There chanced to be an odd male, and odd 
female, 
Who (after some discussion and some doubt, 

I;' the soprano might be deem'd to be male. 
They placed him o'er the women as a scout) 

\Verelinkdtogether,andithappen'dthemale 
Was Juan, — who, an awkward thing at his age, 
Pair'd off with a Bacchante blooming visage. 

xcui. 
With Raucocanti lucklessly was chain'd 

The tenor; these two hated with a hate 
Found only on the stige, and each more pain'd 

With this his tuneful neighbour than his fate 
Sad strife arose, for they were so cross-grain'd, 

Instead of bearnig up without debate, 
That each puU'd diderent ways w ith many an 

oath, 
" Arcades ambo," id est — blackguards both. 

xciv. 
Juan's companion was a Romagnole, 

But bred within the march of old Ancona, 
With eyes that look'd into the very soul 

(And other chiet' points of a " bella ilonna"), 
Bright — and as black and burning as a coal; 

And through her clear brunette complexion 
shone a 
Greatwish to please — a most attracii re dower. 
Especially when added to the power. 

xcv. 
But all that power was wasted upon him, 

For sorrow o'er each sense held stern com- 
mand ; 
Her eye might flash on his, but found it dim; 

And though thus chain'd, as natural her hand 
TouchVi his, nor that — nor any handsome limb 

{And she had some not easy to withstand) 
Could .stir his pulse, or m;ike his faith feel 

brittle, 
Peihaps his recent wounds might help a little 

.\cvi. 
No maiter ; we should ue k; too much inquire, 

But facts are lacts: no Kuight could be more 
true. 
And firmer faith no ladye-love desire ; 

We will omit the proofs, save one or two : 
T is said no one in hand " can hold a fire 

By thought of frosty Caucasus ;" but few, 
I really think ; yet Juan's then ordeal 
Was mor^ triumphant, and not much less real. 



.KCVll. 

Here I might enter on a chaste desciiption. 
Having withstood temptation in my youth, 

But hear that several people take exception 
At the tir!?t two books having too much truth. 

There;ore I '11 make Don Juan leave the ship 
soon. 
Because the publisher declares, in sooth, 

Through i/eedles' eyes it easier for the camel ig 

To pass, than those two cantos into families. 

XCVIII. 

T is all the same to me ; I 'm fond of yielding, 
And therefore leave them to the purer page 

Of Smollett, Prior, Ariosto, Fielding, 

Who say strange things for so correct an age; 

I once had great alacrity iu wielding 
My pen, and liked poetic war to wage, 

And recollect the time when all this cant 

Would have provoked remarks which now it 
shan't. 

XCIX. 

As boys^ove rows, my boyhood liked a squabble , 

But at this hour I wish to part in peace. 
Leaving such to the literary rabble, 

Whether my verse's fame be doom'd to cease, 
While the right hand which wroteit still is able, 

Or of some centuries to t;ke a lease; 
The grass upon my grave will irrow a.s long. 
And sigh to midnight winds, but n.a to song. 

c. 
Of poets who come down to us through dis- 
tance [Faine, 

Of time and tongues, the foster-babe's o/ 
Life seems the smallest portion of existence, 

\^'here t^venty ages gather o er a name, 
'T is as a snowball whieh derives assistance 
' From every tiake, and yet rolls on the same. 
Even till an iceberg it may chance to grow; 
But, after all, 't is nothing but cold snow. 

cr. 
And so gi-eat names are nothing more than 
nominal. 

And love of glory 's but an airy lust. 
Too often in its fury overcoming all 

Who would as 'twere identity their dust 
From out the witle destruetion, which entomb- 
ing all, [just" — • 

Leaves nothing till " the coming of the 
Save change : 1 've stood upon Achilles' tomb. 
And heard Troy doubted ; time will doubt of 
Rome. 

CII. 

The very generations of the dead 

Are swept away, and tomb inherits tomb, 

Until the memory of an age is Qed, [doom. 
And, buried, si.iks beneath its offspring'* 



382 



DON JUAK". 



Where are the epi'.aplis our fathers read ? 
Save a few gle-in'd from the sepulchral 
gloom [neath, 

Which once-named myriads nameless lie be- 
And lose their own in universal death. 

cm. 
I canter by the spot each afternoon 

Where peri'shd in his lame the hero-boy, 
Who lived too long for men, but died loo soon 

For human vanity, the young De Foix ' 
A broken pillar, not uncoulhly hewn, 

But which neglect is hastening to destroy, 
Records Ravenna's carnage on its face, 
While A-eeds and ordure rankle round the base. 



I pass each day where Dante's bones are laid: 
A little cupola, more neat than solemn, 

Protects his dust, but reverence here is paid 
To the bard's tomb, and not the AVairior's 
CO. urn n : 

The tin)e must come, when both alike decay'd. 
The chieftain's trophy, and the poet's volume, 

Will sink where lie the songs and wars of 
earth. 

Before Pelides' death, or Homer's birth. 



With human blood that column was cemented, 
With human filth that column is defiled, 

As if the peasant's coarse contempt were 
vented 
To shov\ his loathing of the spot he soil'd: 

Thus is the trophy used, and thus lamented 
Should ever be those bloodhounds, from 
whose wild 

Instinct of gore and glory earth has known 

Those sufferings Dante saw in hell alone 

cvi. 
Yet there will still be bai-ds : though fame is 
smoke, [thought ; 

Its fumes are frankincense to human 
And the unquiet feelings, which first woke 
Song in the world, will seek what then they 
sought; 
As on the beach the waves at last are broke. 
Thus to their extreme verge the passions 
brought 
Dash into poetry, whic^ i» out passion. 
Or at least was so ere it grew a passion. 

cvii. 
If in the course of such a life as was 

At once adventurous and contemplative, 

Men who partake all passions as they pass, 

Acquire the deep and bitter power to give 



Their images aga n as in a glass, 

And in such cOiOurs that they seem to liT*; 
You may do right forbidding them to show'en^ 
But spoil (I thmk) a very pretty poem. 

CVIII. 

Oh ! ye, who make the fortun-js of all hooki '. 

Benign Ceruleans of the second sex ! 
Who advertise new poems by your looks. 
Your " imprimatur" will ye not annex ? 
What! must I go to the oblivious cooks? 
Those Cornish plunderers of Painassiaa 
wrecks l-* 
Ah ! must I then the only minstrel be, 
Proscribed from tasting your Castalian tea ! 

cix. 
What! can I prove " a lion" then nomoi'i:? 
A ball-room bard, a foolscap, hot-press 
darling? 
To bear the compliments of many a bore, 
And sigh, " I can't get out," like Yorick's 
starling ; 
Why then I'll swear, as poet W^ordy swore. 
(Because the world won't read him, always 
snarling) 
That taste is gone, that fame is but a lottery, 
Drawn by the blue-coat misses of a coterie. 

ex. 
Oh! " darkly, ('eeply, beautifully blue," 

As some one some-v'icre sings about the sky. 
And I, ye learned ladies, say cf you ; 

They say your stocking's are so — ^Heaven 
knows why, 
I have examined few pair of that hue) ; 
}ilue as the garters which serenely lie 
Round the Patrician left-legs, which adorn 
The festal midnight, and the levee rnom. 

CXI. 

Yet some of you are most seraphic creatures— 
But times are alter'd since, a rhyming lovei 

Youread ray stanzas, and I read your features 
And — but no matter, all those tilings an 
over; 

Still I have no dislike to learned natures. 
For sometimes such a world of virtues cover. 

I knew one woman of that purple school. 

The loveliest, chastest, best, but — quite a fool 

CXIl. 

Humboldt, " the fir.-,t of travellers,' but not 
The last, if late accounts be accurate, 

Invented, by some name I have forgot, 
As well as the sublime discovery's dat<;. 

An airy instrument, with which he sought 
To ascertain the atmospheric state. 

By measuring " the inteimty of blue ;" 

Oh, Lady Daphne I let me measure you ! 



DON JUAN. 



383 



cxin. 

But to the narrative: — The vessel bound 
With slaves to sell off in the capita], 

After tlie usual process, might be found 
At anchor under the seraglio wall ; [sound, 

Her cargo, froni the plague beirg saf3 and 
Were lauded in ihe market^', one and all, 

And there with Georgians, Russians, and 
Circassians, 

Bought up for ditFerent jiurposes and passions. 

CXIV 

Some went off dearly ; fifteen hundrec' dollars 

For one Circassian, a sweet girl, were given. 

Warranted virgin ; beauty's brightest colours 

Haddeck'dherout in all the hues of heaven: 

.Her salesciuhome some disappointed bawlers, 

- Wlio bade on till the hundreds reach'd 

eleven ■,^- 
But when the offer went beyond, they knew 
'T was for the Sultan, and at once withdrew. 



Twelve negresses from Nubia brought a price 

Which the West Indian market scarce 

could bring; [twice 

Though Wilberforce, at last, has made it 
What t'was ere Abolition; and the thing 

Need not seem very wonderful, for vice 
Is alft-ays much more splendid than a king : 

The virtues, even the most exalted, Charity, 

Are saving — vice spares nothing for a rarity. 

CXVI. 

But for the destiny of this young troop. 
How some were bought by pachas, some 
by Je.ws, 

How some to burdens were obliged to stoop, 
And others rose to the command of crews 

As renegadoes; while in hapless group, 
Hoping no very old vizier might choose, 

The females stood, as one by one they pick'd 
'em, 

To make a mistress, or fourth wife, or victim: 



All this must be resented for further song; 

Also our hero's lot, howe'er unpleasant, 
(Because this Canto has become too long), 

Must be postponed discreetly for the present ; 
I'm sensible redundancy is wrong, [in't: 

But could not for the muse of me put less 
And now delay the progress of Don Juan, 
Till what is call'd in Ossian the fifth Duan. 



IBon 31uan, 



CANTO THE FIFTH. 



When amatory poets sing their loves 

In liquid lines meHifluously bland, [doves 
And pair their rhymes as Venus yokes hci 

They little tliink what mischief is in hand^ 
The greater their success the worse it proves. 

As Ovid's verse may give to understand;' 
Even Petrarch's self, if judged witn due 

severity, 
Is the Platonic pimp of all posterity. 

II. 
I therefore do denounce all amorous writing. 

Except in such a way as not to attract ; 
Plain — simple — short, and by no means 
inviting. 

But with a moral to each error tack'd, 
Form'd rather for instructing than delighting, 

And with all passions in their uun attaci< d . 
Now, if my Pegasus should net be shod ill, 
This poem will become a moral model. 

III. 
The European with the Asian shore 

Sprinkled with palaces ; the ocean stream 
Here and there studded with a seventy-four ; 

Sophia's cupola with golden gleam ; 
The cypress groves; Olympus high and hoar, 

The twelve isles, and the more than I could 
dream, 
Far less describe, present the very view 
Which charm'd the chaniing ilary Men- 
tagu.63 

IV 

I have a passion for the name of " Mary,'" 
For once it was a magic sound \o me ; 

And still it half calls up the realms of fairy. 
Where I beheld what never was to be ; 

All feehngs changed, but tliis was last to vary 
A spell from which even yet lam not quiu 
free : 

But I grow sad— and let a tale grow cold, 

Which must not be pathetically told. 

V. 

The wind swept down the Euxine, and th« 

wave 

Broke foaming o'er the blue Symplogadcs; 

Tis a grand sight from off "the Giants 

Grave"64 

To watch the progiess of those rolling k'M 



384 



DO^ mj^ 



Between theBosphorus, as they lash and lave 

Europe and Asia, you being quite at ease ; 
There 's not a sea the passenger e'er pukes in, 
Turns m* more dangerous breakers than the 
K axine. 

VI. 

Twas arawdayof Autumn's bleak beginning, 
When nights are equal, but not so the days; 
The Parc83 then cut short the further spinning 
Of seamen's fates, and the loud tempests 
raise 
The waters, and repentance for past sinning 
In all, who o'er the great deep take their 
ways : [don't; 

They vow to amend their lives, and yet they 
Because if drown'd, Uiey can't — if spared, 
♦u<»v won't. 



A crowd of shivering slaves of every natioi. 
And age, and sex, were in the market 

ranged ; 
Each bevy with the merchant in his station : 
Poor creatures I their good looks were sadly 

changed. 
All save the blacks seem'd j ad ed\vith vexation, 
From friends, and home, and freedom far 

estranged ; 
The negroes more philosophy display'd, — 
Used to it; no doubt, as eels ai-e to be flay'd. 

VIII. 

Juan was juvenile, and thus was full, 

As most at his age are, of hope, and health; 

Yet I must own, he look'd a little dull, 
And now and then a tear stole down 
by steal til ; 

Perhaps his recent loss of blood might pull 
His spirit down ; and then the loss of wealth, 

A mistress, and such comfortable quarters, 

To be put up for auction amongst Tartars, 



Like a backgammon board the place was dotted 
With whiles and blacks, in groups onishon 
for sale. 

Though rather more irregularly spotted: 
Some bought the jet, while others chose 
the pale. 

It chanced amongst the other people lotted 
A man of thirty, rather stout and hale. 

With resolution in his dark grey eye, 

Next Juan stood, till some might choose to buy, 

XI. 

He had an English look ; that is, was square 
In make, of a comijlexion white and ruddy. 

Good teeth, with curling rather dark brown 

hair, " [study 

And, it might be from thought, or toil, vl 

An open brow a little mark'd with care 
One arm had on a bandage rather bloody; 

And tliere he stood with such sang-ftvid, thaX 
greater 

Could scarce be shown even by a mere spectator 

XXI. 

But feeing at his elbow a mere lad. 
Of a high spirit evidently, though 

At present weigh'd down by a doom which ha*.! 
O'crthrown even men, he soon begjin lo 
show 

A kind of blunt compassion for the sad 
Lot of so young a partner in the woe, 

"•Vhich for himself he seem'd to deem no worse 

Than any other scrape, a thing of course. 

Xlll. 

'* My boy !" — said he, " amidst this motley 
crew [not, 

Of Georgians, Russians, Nubians, and wha*. 
All ragamuffins difieruig but in hue, 

With whom it is our luck to cast our lot, 
The only gentlemen seem I and you ; 

So let us be acquainted, as we ought . 
If I could yield you any consolation, 
'T would give me pleasure. — Piay, what is 
your nation ?" 



A'ere things to shake a stoic ; ne'eilheless, 
TJpon the whole his carriage was serene : 

His figure, and the splendour of his dress. 
Of which some gilded remnants still were 
seen. 

Drew all eyes on him, giving them to guess 
He was above the vulgar by his mien ; 

And then, though pale, he was so very hand- 
some; 

And then — they calculated on his ransom. 



When Juan answer 'd — "Spanish!" he replied, 
" I thought, in fact, you could not be a 
Greek ; 

Those servile dogs are not so proudly eyed-. 
Fortune has play'd you here a pretty frcidc. 

But that's her way with all men, till they're 

tried ; [week ; 

But never mind, — she'll turn, perhaps,nest 

She has served me also much the same as you, 

Except that I have found it nothing new." 



do:n juax. 



385 



" Prav. sir," said Juan, " if I may presume, 

What brought you here ?" — " Oh ! nothing 

very rare— . [this do>-.m 

Six Tartars and a drag-chain -" — " To 

But what conducted, if the question's fair, 

Is that which I would learn. ' — '' I served for 

some [there, 

Months with the Russian army here and 

And taking lately, by Suwarrow's bidding, 

i town, was ta'en myself instead of Wid- 

din."65 

XVI. 

' Have you no friends ?" — " I had — but, by 

God's blessing, [Now 

Have not been troubled with them lately. 

J 'lave answer'd *dl your questions without 

pressing. 

And you an equal courtesy should show." 

Alas!" saidJuan, '* 'twere a tale distressing. 

And long besides." — " Oh! if 'tis really so, 

You're right on both accounts to hold your 

tongue ; 
A sad tale saddens doubly, when 'tis long. 

XVII. 

•But droop not: Fortune at your time of 
life. 

Although a female moderately fickle, 
Will hardly leave you (as she's not your wife) 

For any lei^^h of days in such a i^ickle. 
To strive, too, with our fate were such a strife 

As if the corn-sheaf should oppose tiie 
sickle : 
Men are the sport of circumstances, when 
The circumstances seem the sport of men." 



XVIII. 

Juan, 



" 'T is not," said Juan, " for my present 
doom [maid :" — 

I mourn, but for the past; — I loved a 
He paused, and his dark eye grew full of 
gloom ; 

A single tear upon his eyelash staid 
A moment, and then dropp'd ; " but to resume, 

'T is nc€ my present lot, as I have said, 
^ hich I deplore so much ; for I have borne 
Hardships which have the hardiest overworn, 

XIX. 

'• On the rough deep. But this last blow — ' 
and here 
He stopp'd again, and turn'd away his face. 
" A v." quoth his friend, " I thought it would 
appear 
Thai there had been a lady in the case ; 



And these are Uiings which ask a tender lear, 
Such as I, too, would shed if in yourplace- 
I cried upon my first wife's dying day, 
And also when my second ran away : 

XX. 

" My third " — " Your third !" quoth 

Juan, turning round ; [thi-ee?" 

" You scarcely can be thirty : have yr-tl 
" No — only two at present above ground : 

Surely 'tis nothing wonderful to see 
One person thrice in holy wedlock bounri !" 
"Well, then, yom* third," said Juan; 
" what did she ? 
She did not run away, too, — did she, sir ?" 
" No, faith." — " What- then?" — " I ran away 
from her." 

XXI. 

" You take things coolly, sir," said Juan 
" Why," 
Replied the other, " what can a man do? 
There still are many rainbows in your sky. 
But mine have vanish'd. All, when life is 
new, " ' [high; 

Commence with feelings warm, and prospects 

But time stnps our illusions of their hue. 

And one by one in turn, some grand mistake 

Casts off its bright skin yearly like the snake 

XXII. 

" 'Tis true, it gets another bright and fresh, 
Or fresher, blighter; but the year gone 
through. 

This skin must go the way, too, of all flesh, 
Or someliines only wea; a week or two; — 

Love 's the first net which spreads its deadly 
mesh ; 
Ambition, Avarice, Vengeance, Glory, glue 

The glittering lime-twigs of our latter days. 

Where still we flutter on for pence or praise." 

XXIII. 

" All this is very fine, and may be true," 
Said Juan ; " but I really don't see how 

It betters present times with me or you."* 
" No?" quoth the other; " yet you wili 
allow 

By setting things in their right point of view, 
Knowledge, at least, is gain'd; forinsUnce, 
now. 

We know what slavery is, and our disasters 

May teach us better to behave when masters." 

XXIV. 

" Would we were masters now, if but to try 
Their present lessons on our Pagan friends 
here," 
Said Juan, — swallowing a heart-burning sigh: 
" Heaven help the scholar whom his fw 
tune sends here!" 



26 



2c 



386 



DON JUAN. 



* Perhaps we shall be one day, by and by," 

Rejoin'd the other, " when our bad luck 

mends here ; [eye us) 

Meantime (yon old black eunuch seems to 

I wish to G — d that somebody would buy us. 



And by mistake sequins 67 with paras jurablingi 

Until the sum was accurately scann'd, 
And thpn the merchant giving change, and 

signing 
Re'^eipts in full, began to think of dining. 



' But after all, what is our present state ? 

T is bad, and may be better — all men's lot . 

Most men are slaves, none more so than the 

great, [not; 

To their own whims and passions, and what 
Society itself, which should create 

Kindness, destroys what little we had got: 
To feel for none is the true social art 
Of the world's stoics — men without a hearU" 

XXVI. 

Just now a black old neutral personage 

Of the third sex stept up, and peering over 

The captives seem'd to mark their looks and 
age, 
And capabilities, as to discover 

If they were fitted for the pui-posed cage : 
No lady e'er is ogled by a lover, 

Horse by a blackleg, broadcloth by a tailor, 

Fee by a counsel, felon by a jailor, 

XXVII. 

As is a slave by his intended bidder.^ 

Tis pleasant purchasing our fellow-crea- 
tures; 
And all are to be sold, if you consider 

Their passions, and are dext'rous; some by 
features 
Are bought up, others by a warlike leader. 
Some by a place — as tend their years or 
natures ; 
The most by ready cash — but all have prices. 
From crowns to kicks, according to their vices. 

XXVIII. 

The eunuch having eyed them o'er with care 
Turn'd to the merchant, and begun to bid 

First but for one, and after for the pair; 
They haggled, wrangled, swore, too — so 
they did ! 

As though they were in a mere Christian fair 
Cheapening an ox, an ass, a lamb, or kid; 

So that their bargain sounded like a battle 

For this superior yoke of human cattle. 

XXIX. 

At 1 ast they settled into simpie grumbling. 
And pulling out reluctant purses, and 

Turning each piece of silver o'er, and tumbling 
Some down, and weighing others in their 
hand. 



I wonder if his appetite was good ? 

Or, if it were, if also his digestion ? 
Methinks at meals some odd thoughts migii 
intrude, 
And conscience ask a curious sort of question 
About the right divine how far we should 
. Sell flesh and blood. When dinner ha* 

opprest one, 
I think it is perhaps the gloomiest hour 
Which turns up out of the sad twenty -fpur.' ■ 

XXXI. 

Voltaire says " No:" he tells you that Candide 

Found life most tolerable after meals; 
He's wrong — unless man were a pig, indeed. 

Repletion rather adds to what he feels. 
Unless he 's drunk, and then no donbt he 's 
freed [reels. 

From his own brain's oppression while it 
Of food I think with Philip's son, or rather 

Ammon's (ill pleased with one world ani 
one father) ; 

XXXII. 

I think with Alexander, that the act 
Of eating, with another act' or two, 

Makes us feel our mortality in fact 

Redoubled; when a roast and a ragout, 

And fish, and soup, by some side dishes back d, 
Can give us either pain or pleasure, who 

Would pique himself on intellects, whose use 

Depends so much upon the gastiic juice? 

XXXIII. 

The other evening ('twas on Friday last) — 

This is a fact, and no poetic fable — 
Just as my great coat was about me cast. 

My hat and gloves still lying on the table 
I heard a shot — 'twas eight o'clock scare* 
past — 

And, running out as fast as I was able,*8 
I foimd the militaiy commandant 

Stretch'd in the street, and able scarce t0 
panL 

XXXIV. 

Poor fellow I for some reason, surely bad, 
They had slain him with five slugs ; and left 
him there 
To perish on the pavement: so I had 
Him borne into the houseand up, the sCaiz 



DON JUAK. 



38"? 



&nd sti-ipp'd,, aud look'd to,— — But why 

should I add 
More circuiustauces? vain was every care; 
The man was gone : in some Italian quarrel 
KiU'd by five bullets from an old gun-harrei. 

XXXV. 

i gazed upon him, for I knew him well; 

And though I have seen many corpses, never 
Saw one, Avhom such an accident befell, 

So calm; though pierced through stomach, 
heart, and liver, 
He seem'd lo sleep,— for you could scarcely tell 

(As he bled inwardly, no hideous river 
or gore divulged the cause) that he was dead: 
So as I gazed on him, I thought or said— 

XXXV I. 
" Can this be death? then what is life or death? 

Speak!" but he spoke not: "wake!" but 
still he slept: — 
■* But yesterday and who had mightier breath? 

A thousand warriors by his word were kept 
Til awe: he said, as the centurion saiih, 

' Go,' and he goeth ; ' come, and forth he 
stej.-pd. 
The trump and bugle till he spake were dumb — • 
And now nought left him but the muffled di-um." 

XXXVIl. 

And they who waittd once and worshipp'd — 

they [bed 

With their rough faces throng'd about the 

To gaze once more on the commanding clay 

Which for tlie last, though not the first, 

time bled : 

And such an end! that he who many a day 

Had faced Napoleon's foes until they fled, — 
The foremost in the chai-ge or in the sally, 
•Should now be butcher'd in a civic alley. 

xxxvm. 
Tlie scars of his old wounds were neai" his new, 
'lliose honom-able scars which brought him 
fame; 

And horrid, was the contrast to the view 

But let me quit the theme : as such things 
claim 
Perhaps even more attention than is due 
From me : I gazed (as oft I have gazed the 
same) 
To trj' if I could wrench aught out of death 
Which should coniinn, or shake, or make a 
faith; 

XXXIX. 

But it was all a mystery. Here we are, 
And there we go: — bat uJiere ? five bits of 
lead, 

Or tlu-ee, or two, or one, sep(l very far ! [shed ? 
And is this bloed» tl^cn, form'd but to be 



Can eveiy dement our elements irai- ? 

And lur — earlli — water — tire live — and ira 
dead ? [more ; 

We, whose minds comprehend all things? N« 
But let us to tlie story as before. 

XL. 

The purchaser of Juan and acquairitance 
Bure ofi' his bargains to a giideil boat, 

Embark'd himself aud them, and oil they went 
ihence 
As fast as oars could pull and water float; 

They look'd like persons being led to sentence, 
Wondering what next, till the caigue*'^ wa» 
brought 

Up in a little creek below a wall 

O'enopp'd with cypresses, daik-gieen and tali. 

XLI. 

Here their conductor tapping at the wicket 
Of a small iron door, 'twas open'd, and 

He led them onward, first through a low thicket 
Flank'd by large gi-oves, wliich tower'd on 
either hand: 

They almost lost their way, and had to pick it— 
For night was closing ere they came to land. 

The eunuch made a sign to those on board, 

Who row'd olF, leaving them without a word, 

XLII. 

As they were plodding on their winding way 
Thi-ough orange bowers, and jasmine, aud 
so forth : 

(Of which I might have a good deal to say, 
There being no such profusion in the North 

Of oriental plants, " et cetera," 

But that of late your scribblers think :'t 
worth [works, 

Their while to rear whole hotbeds in fheir 

Because one poet travell'd 'mongst the Turks :) 

XLIII, 

As they were threading on their way, there came 
Into Don Juan's head a thought, which he 

Whisper'd to his companion : — 'twas the same 

Which might have then occurr'd to you or 

Die. [great shame 

"Methinks," — said he, — "it would be no 
If we should strike a stroke to set us free ; 

Let's knock that old black fellow on the head. 

And march away — 'twere easier done than 
said." 

XI.IV. 

" Yes," said the other, " and when done, whal 
then? 
Hoip get out ? how the devil got we in ? 
And when we once were fair'y out, and when 
From Saint Ba'-tholomew we have 8aye<| 
our skin,'C 

2 c 2 



abs 



DON JUAInT, 



To-morrow 'u see us in some other dcu, 

And worse ofl'thiin we hitherto have be^n; 
Besides, I 'm hungry, and just now would take, 
Lilce Esau, for my birihi-ight a heel-steak. 

XLV. 

" We must be near some place of man's 
abode ; — 
For ihe old negi-o's contidence in creeping, 
With his two captives, by so queer a road, 
Shows that he thinks his friends have not 
been sleeping; 
A single cry %vould bring them all abroad: 

'T is therefore better looking before leaping— 
And there, you see, this turn has brought us 

through 
B> Jove, a noble palace I — flighted too. 

XLVI. 

It ,vas indeed a wide extensive building 
Which open'd ou their view, and o'er the 
front 

laere seem'd to be besprent a deal of gilding 
And various hues, as is the Turki.sh wont. — 

A gaudy taste; for they ai-e little skill'd in 
'ihe arts of which these lands weie once the 
font: 

Each villa on the Bosphorus looks a screeu 

New painted, or a pretty opera-scene. 

XLVII. 

And nearer as they came, a genial savour 
Of certain stews, and roast-meats, and pilaus, 

Things which in hungry mortals' eyes find 
favour, 
Made Juan in his harsh intentions pause, 

And put himself upon his good behaviour: 
His friend, too, adding anew saving clause, 

Said, " In Heaven's name let's get some supper 
now. 

And then I 'm with you, if you 're for a row." 

XLVIII, 

Some talk of an appeal, unto some passion. 
Some to men's feelings, others to their reason; 

The last of these was never much the fashion, 
For reason thinks all reasoning out of season. 

^ome speakers whine, and otherslay thelash on, 
But more or less continue still to tease on, 

With aigumeuts according to their " forte ;" 

lint no one ever dreams of being short. — 

XLIX. 

But I digress : of all appeals, — although 
I grant the power of patlios, and of gold, 

Of beauty, flattery, threats, a shilling, — no 
Method's more sure at moments to take hold 

Of the best feelings of mankind, which grow 
More tender, as we every day behold. 

Than that all-sofiening, ovtqjowering knell, 

Tht to.'siu of the x.iil— -the (liiru-r-' si!. 



Turkey contains no beils, and vet men dine , 

And Juan and his friend, albeit they heard 
No Christian knoll to la'ule, saw no line 

Of lackeys usher to the feast prepait;d, 
Yet .->nielt roast-meat, beheld a huge hie shin a. 

And cooks in motion with their clean artni 
bared. 
And gazed around them to the lel't and right. 
With the prophetic eye uf appetite. 

LI. 

And giving up all notions of resistance. 
They folluw'd close behind their sable guide 

Who little thought that his own crack'd existence 
Was on the point of being set aside : 

He moti on'd them to stop at some small distance, 
And knocking at the gate, 'twas open'd wide, 

And a magnificent laige hall display'd 

The Asian pomp of Ottoman paiade 

LIT. 

I ViOn't describe; description is my forte, 

But every fool describes in these. biigbt days 
His wondrous jouniey to some foreign coiu-l, ;, 

And spawns his quarto, and demands your 
praise — 
Death to his publisher, to him 'tis sport; 

While Natiu'e,tonuredtwenty thousand way*^ 
Resigns herself with exemplary patience 
To guide-books, rhymes, tours, sketches, illus- 
trations. 

LIII. 
Alongthishall, and up and down, some, squatted 

Upon their haras, v. ere occupied at chess; 
Others in monosyllable talk chatted, 

And some seem'd much in love with their 
own drcL^s. 
And divers smoked superb pipes decorated 

With amber moallis of greater price or les3 
And several strutted, others slept, and some 
Prepared for supper with a glass of rum.** 

LIV 

As the black eunuch enter'd with his brace 

Of purchased Infidels, some raised theireyrt 
A moment without slaeliening lioni tlieir pace ; 

But those who sate, ne er stirr'd in any wise: 
One or two stared the captives in the face. 

Just as one views a horse to guess his price; 
Some nodded to the negi'o from their statioii, 
But no one troubled him svith conversation. 

i.v. 
He leads them through the hall, and, without 
stopping. 

On through alarther range of goodly loonis. 
Splendid but silent, save in one, where. dro}>- 
ping,*'.' 

A ni;iHiic :'<.untahi chocs throuL'h the gh onu 



DON JUAiV. 



i89 



Of night, which r(;be the chamber, or vv^ere 

popping _ 

Some female hea(i most cnnonsly punimcs 
To thrust its black eyes through "the door or 

lattice, 
As wondering what the devil noise that is. 

LVI. 

Some fain lamps gleaming from the -ofty walls 
Giave light -iuoiigh to hint their iarvher way, 

But not enough to show the imperial halls 
In all the flashing of their full ari-ay ; 

PerLaps there's nothing — 1 "11 not say appals. 
But sadilans more by night as well as day, 

Th;;n an enormous roum without a soul 

To break the lifeless splendour of the whole. 

LVll. 

Two or three seem SO little, one seems nothing. 

In deserts, forests, crowds, or by the shore, 
There solitude, we know, has iier full growth in 

The spots which were her realms for ever- 
more ; 
Gut in a mighty hail or gallery, both in 

More modern buildings and those built of 
yore, 
A hind of death comes »'er us all alone, 
Seeing what's meant for many with but one. 

LVill. 

A ntat, snug study on a winter's night, 
A book, friend, sinj/'e lady, or a glass 
Cf claret, sandwich, and an appetite, 

Are things which make an English evening 
pass ; 
Though ceries by no means so grand a sight 

As is a theatre lit up by gas. 
I pass my evenings in long gailuries solely; 
And that 's the reason 1 'm so mehaichoiy. 

Lix. 
A.las! man makes that great which makes him 
little : 
I grant you m a church 'tis very well: 
What speaks of Heaven should by no means 
be brittle, 
But strong and lasting, till no tongue can tell 
Their names who rear'd it; but huge hcmses 
tit ill — [Adam fell: 

And huge tombs worse — mankind, since 
Methinks the story of the tower of Babel 
Might teach them this much better than I'm able. 

LX. 

Babel was Nimrod's hunting-box, and then 
A town of gardens,walls, and wealth amazing, 

■Where Nebuchadonosor, king of men,' 

Reign'd, till one summer's day he took to 
grazing 



And Daniel laaoed the liens in their den, 

The peojde's awe and admiration raising; 
T was famous, too, for ThisbeandfcrPyramus 
And the calumniated queen Scmiramis — 

LXI. 

That injured Queen, by chroniclers sociiarse 
Has been accused (I doubt not by conspiracy; 

Of au improper friendship hn- her horse 

(Love.iike religion,sometimesrnn« tol Pi-?<«-'^ . 

This monstrous tale had probably its source 
(I"or such exaggerations here and there I see. 

In writing'' Courser "by mistake for" Courier:' 

I wish the case could come belore a jury here 

LXU. 

Buttoresume, — should there be (what may not 
Be in these days?) some inlidels who don . 

Because tliey can't find out the very spot 
Of that same Babel, or because they won't 

(Though Claudius Hich, Esquire, some bricks 
has got. 
And written lately two memoirs upon 't,) 

Believe the Jews, those unbelievers, who 

Must be believed, though they believe not yoa 

LXIII. 

Yet let them thiidc that Horace has exprest 
Shortly and sweetly the masonic folly 

Of those, forgetting the great place of rest, 
Who give themselves lo architecture wholly; 

We know where ib.ings and men must end at 
best: 
A moral (like all morals) mchincholy, 

And " Et sepulciii-i immenior struis domes " 

Shows li:at we build when we sliould but 
entomb us. 

LXIV 

At last they reach'd a quarter most retired, 
Where echo woke as if I'rom a long slumber, 

Though full of all things which could be desired 
One w(;niler'd what to do with suehanumbei 

Of articles w hich nobody required ; 

Here wealth had done its utmost to encumbei 

With furniture an exquisite apartment, 

Which puzzled Nature much to know whal 
Art meant. 

LXV 

It seem'd, however, but to open on 

A range or suite of further chambers, whlcb 

Might lead to heaven knows where ; but in 
this one 
The moveables Avern prodigally rich: 

Sofas 'twas half a sin to sit upon. 

So costly were tliey ; carpets every stitch 

Of workmanship so rare, they made yon wish 

■^'ou couhi glide o'er them like a golden tish. 



390 



DOF JUA]^. 



rhe black, however, without hardly deignmg 

A glance at that which wrapt the slaves in 

wonder, [ing, 

Traiapled what they scarce 'rod for fear of stain- 
As if the milky way their feet was under 

With all its stars ; and with a stretch attaining 
A certain press or cupboaid niched in 
yonder — - 

In that remote recess which you may see — 

Or if you don't the fault is not in me — 



I wish to be perspicuous ; and the black, 
I say, unlocking the recess, pull'd forth 

A quantity of clothes fit for the back 
Of any Mussulman, whate'er his worth ; 

And of variety there was no lack — [dearth, — 
And yet, though I have said there was no 

He chose himself to point out what he thought 

Most proper for tlae Ciu-istians he liad bought. 

I XVIII. 

The suit he thought most suitable to each 
Was, for the elder and the stouter, first 

A Caudiote cloak, which to the knee might 

reach [burst, 

And trousers not so tight that they would 

But such as fit an Asiatic breech; [nurst, 

A shawl, whose folds in Cashmirehad been 

Slippers of saffron, dagger rich and handy ; 

In short, all things which form a Turkish 
Dandy. 

LXIX. 

While he was dressing, Baba. their black friend, 
Hinted the vast advantages which they 

Might probably attain both in the end. 
If they would but pursue the proper way 

Which Fortune plainly seem'd to recommend; 
And then he added that be needs must say, 

" 'T would greatly tend to better their condi- 
tion. 

If they would condescend to circumcision. 



** For his own part, he really should re- 
joice 

To see them true believers, but no less 
Would leave his proposition to their choice. ' 

The other, thanking him for this excess 
Of goodness, in thus leaving them a voice 

In such a trifle, scarcely could express 
" Sufficiently" (he said) " his approbation 
Of all the customs of this polish'd nation. 



LXXI. 
" For his own share — he saw out uaA 

objection 
To so respectable an ancient rite ; j 

And, after swallowing down a slight refectioa, i 

For which he owoi'd a present apf elite, 
He doubted not a few hours of reflection ■ g 
Would reconcile him to the business ouite." 
" Will it?" said Juan, shai-ply: " Strike dm 

dead, 
But they as scon shall circumcise my he«ul« 

liXXII. 

" Cut off a thousand hedds, before " -— 

" Now, pray," 

Replied the other, " do not interrupt ; 
You put me out in what I had to say. 

Sir! — as I said, as soon as I have supt. 
I shall perpend if your proposal may 

Be such as I can properly accept; 
Provided alv/ays your great goodness still 
Ilemits the matter to our own free-wUl." 

LXXIII. 

Baba eyed Juan, and said, " Be so good 
As dress voui-self— " and pointed out a suit 

In which a Princess with gi-eat pleasure wcu!d 
Array her limbs: but Juan standing mute,] 

As not being in a masquerading mood, 

Gave it a slight kick with his Christian foot; 

And when the old negi-o told him to " Get 
ready," 

Replied, " Old gentleman, I'm not a lady." 

LXXIV. 

" "What you maybe, I neither know nor care," ^ 
Said Baba ; " but pray do as I desire ; 

I iiav.e no more time nor many words to 
spare.," 
" At least," said Juan, " sure I may inquire 

The cause of this odd travesty?" — "Forbear," 
SaidBdba, " to be curious; 'twill transpire, 

No doubt, in proper place, and time, ^and 
season : 

I kave no authority to tell the reason." 

LXXV. 

• Then if I do," said Juan, " 1 11 be " 

— " Hold!" [voking; 

Rejoin'd the negro, " pray be not pro- 
This spirit's well, but it may wax too bold. 

And you will fi.id us not loo fond of joking.- 
" What sir," said Juan, " shall it e'er be told 

That I unsex'd my di'ess?" But Baba 
stroking [call 

The things dcwn, said, " Incense me, and I 
Those why vt di leave you of no sex at alL 



DON JUAN. 



39] 



LXXVI. 
" I offer you a uandsome suit of clothes : 

A wouiiui's, true; but then there is a cause 
Why you should wear them." — " What, 
though my soul loathes TpJiuse, 

The effeminate gaib ?" — thus, after a short 
Bigh'd Juan, muttering also some slightoaths, 
" What the devil shall I do with all this 
gauze?" 
Thus he profanely term'd the finest lace 
Which e'er set otf a maniage-morning iac^ 

LXXVII. 

And then he swore; and, sighing, on he slipp'd 
A pair of trousers of tiesh-colour'd silk ; 

Next with a virgin zone he was equipp'd, 
Which girt a slight chemise as white as 
milk ; 

But tugging on his petticoat, he tripp'd, 
Which — as we say — or, as the Scotch say, 
ivliilk, 

'The rhyme obliges me to this ; sometimes 

Monarchs are less imperative than rhymes) — 

I.XXVIII. 

tS'hilk, which (or what you please), was 
owing to [awkward : 

His garment's novelty, and his being 
And yet at last he managed to get through 

His toilet, though no doubt a little backward : 
The negro Baba help'd a little too, [hard ; 

When some untoward part of raiment stuck 
And, wrestling both his aims into a gown, 
He paused, and took a survey up and down. 

LXXIX, 

One difficulty still rcmain'd — his hair 

Was hardly long enough; but Baba found 

Bo many false long tresses all to spare, 

That soon his head was most completely 
crown'd. 

After the manner then in fashion there; 
And this addition with such "gems was 
bound 

As suited the emenihle of his toilet, [oil it. 

While Baba made him comb his head and 

I.XXX. 

And now being femininely all array'd, 

With some small aid from scissors, paint, 
and tweezers. 

He look'd in almost ah respects a maid, [sirs, 
And Baba smilingly exclaim'd, "You see, 

A perfect transformation here display'd ; 
And now, then, you must come along with 
me, sirs, [twice, 

That is — the Lady:" — clapping his hands 

¥oiir blacks were at his elbow in a trice. 



LXXXl. 

" You, sir," said Baba, nodding to the one, 
" Will please to accompany those gentlemei 

To supper ; but you, worthy Christian ntm, 
Will follow me : no trilling, sir; for when 

I say a thing, it must at once bo done. 

What fearyou? think you this a hon sden? 

Why, 'tis a palace ; where the truly wise 

Anticipate the Prophet's paradise. 

I.XXXIl. 

" You fool! I tell you no one means yes 
harm." [them ; 

"So much the better," Juan said, "for 
Else they shall feel the weight of this my arm, 

Which is not quite so light as you may 
deem. 
I yield thus far ; but soon will break thecham 

If any take me for that which I seem ; 
So that I trust for every body's sake, 
That this disguise may lead to no mistake," 

LXXXIII. 

" Blockhead! come on, and see," quot) 
Baba; while 
Don Juan, turnitig to his comrade, whc 
Though somewhat grieved, could scarce for- 
bear a smile 
Upon the metamorphosis in view, — 
"Farewell!" they mutually exclaim'd: " this 
soil 
Seems fertile in adventures strange and new. 
One 's tnrn'd half Mussulman, and one amaid, 
By this old black enchanter's unsought aid. 

I.XXXIV. 

" Farewell!" said Juan: " should we meet 

no more, 

I wish you a good appetite." — "Farewell!" 

Replied the other; " though it grieves me 

sore ; [tell : 

When we next meet, we '11 have a tale to 

We needs must follow when Fate puts from 

shore, [once fell." 

Keep your good name ; though Eve herself 

" Nay," quoth the maid, " tLe Sultan's self 

shan't carry me, 
Unless his Highness promises to marry me." 

LXXXV. 

And thus they parted, each by separate doors ; 

Baba led Juan onward room by room 
Through glittering galleries, and o'er marbla 
floors, 

Till a gigantic portal through the gloom, 
Haughty and huge, aJoug the distance lowers; 

And wafted far arose a rich perfume : 
It seem'd as though they came upon a shrine, 
For all was vast, siill, fragrant, and divine. 



DOK JUAN. 



LXXXVI. 

The giant door was broad, and bright, and 
high, [guise ; 

Of gilded bronze, and carved in curious 
Warriors thereon were battling furiouslj' ; 

Here stalks the victor, there the vanquish'd 
lies ; 
There captives led in triumph droop the eye, 

And in perspective many a squadron flies ; 
It seems the work of times before the line 
Of Rome transplanted Ml with Constantine. 

LXXXVII. 

This massy portal stood at the wide close 
Of a huge hall, and on its either side 

Two little dwarfs, the least you could suppose, 
Were sate, like ugly imps, as if allied 

In mockery to the enormous gate which rose 
O'er them in almost pyramidic pride : 

The gate so splendid was in all its features,'^ 

You never thought about those little creatures, 

LXXXVIII. 

Until you nearly trod on them, and then 
Yoii started back in horror to siu-vey 

The wondrous hideousness of those small men, 
Whose colour was not black, nor white, 
nor grey, 

But an extraneous mixtui-e, which no pen 
Can trace, although perhaps the pencil may ; 

They were mis-shapen pigmies, deaf and 
dumb — 

Monsters, who cost a no less monstrous aum. 

LXXXIX. 

Their duty was — for they were strong, and 
though [times — 

They look'd so lilt]'^, did strong things at 
To ope this door, which they could really do, 

The hinges being as smooth as Rogers' 

rhymes ; [bow, 

And now and then, with tough strings of the 

As is the custom of those Eastern climes. 
To give some rebel Pacha a cravat 
For mutes are generally used for that 



They spoke by signs — that is, not spoke at all ; 

And looking like two incubi, they glared 
As Baba with his fingers made them fall 

To heaving back the portal folds : it scared 
Juan a moment, as this pair so small. 

With shrinking serpent optics oJi him stared ; 
It was as if their little looks could poison 
Or fascinate whoiue'er thev iix'd theu- eyes on. 



XCl. 
Before they enter'd, Baba paused to hint 

To Juan some slight lessons as his guidft . 
" If you could just contrive," he said " Xn 
stint 
That somewhat manly majesty of stride, 
'T would be as well, and,< — vt^i^^gb there 's no 
much in't) 
To swing a little less from side to side. 
What has at times an aspect of the oddest;-- 
And also could you look a little modest 

XCII. 

'• 'T would be convenient, for these niutet 
have eyes [ticoats ; 

Like needles, which may pie-'ce those pet^ 
And if they should discover your disguise, 

You know how near us the deep Bosphorua 
floats ; 
And you and I may chance, ere morning rise, 

To find our way to Marmora without boats, 
Stitch'd up in sacks — a mode of navigation 
A good deal practised here upon occasion. "7< 

XCIII. 

With this encouragement, he led the way 
Into a room still nobler than the last ; 

A rich confusion fonn'd a disanay 

In such sort, that the eye along it cast 

Could hardly carry any thing away. 

Object on object flash'd so bright and fast 

A dazzling mass of gems, and gold, and 
glitter, 

Magnificently mingled in a litter. 

XCIT. 

W^ealth had done wonders — taste not much ; 
such things 
Occur in Orient palaces, and even 
In the more chasten'd domes of W^estem kings 
(Of Avhich I have also seen some six ct 
seven) 
Where I can't say or gold or diamond flings 
Great lustre, there is much to be forgiven ; 
Groups of bad statues, tables, chairs, and pic- 
tures, [turcs. 
On which I cannot pause to make my stric- 

xcv. 
In this imperial hall, at distance lay 

Under a canopy, and there reclined 
Quite in a confidential queenly way, 

A lady ; Baba stopp'd, and kneeling sign'd 
To Juan, who though not much used to pray, 

Rnelt down by instinct, woiulcring in his 
mind [bended 

What all this meant : while Baba bowe<] and 
His hea'^ imtil the ceremony ended. 



DON JUAN. 



393 



rbc ladr rising up ■\\iih such an air 

Att Venus rose wilii fiom iht wave, on them 

Bent like an antelope a Paphian pair 

Of eyes, which put out eaeh .surrounding 
gem ; 

And raisiijg up an arm as moonlight fair, 
She sigu'd to Baba, who first kiss'd the hem 

Of her deep purple robe, and speaking low, 

I'oiuted to Juan, who rcmuin'd below 



Her presence was as lofty as her state ; 

Her beauty of that overpowering kind, 
Whose force description only would abate: 

I'd rather leave it much to your own mind, 
Than lessen it by what I could relate 

Of foims and featiues; it would strike you 
blind 
CoiJd I do justice to the full detail : 
So, luckily for both, my phrases fail. 

xcvni. 
Thus much however I may add, — her years 
Were ripe, they might, make six-and-twenty 
springs, [.bears, 

But there are foims which Time to touch for- 
And turns aside his scythe to vulgax things. 
Such as was Mary's Queen of Scots ; true — 
tears [wrings 

And love destroy ; and sapping sorrow 
Charms from the charmer, yet some never grow 
iJgly; for instance — Ninon de I'Enclos. 



She spake some words to her attendants, who 
Composed a choir of girls, ten or a dozen. 

And were all clad alike; like Juan, too. 
Who wore their unifonn, by Baba chosen; 

They fonn'd a very nymph-like looking crew. 
Which might have call'd Diana's chorus 
" cousin," 

As far as outward show may correspond; 

I won't be bail for any thing beyond. 



Ihoy bow'd obeisance andTrithdrcw, retiring 
But not by the same door through which 
came in 

Baba and Juan, which last stood admiring. 
At some small distance, all he saw within 

This strange saloon, much fitted for inspirinp, 
Marvel and praise ; for both or none things 
win; 

And I must say, I ne'er could see the very 

Great liuppiness of the " Nil Admirarj." 



" Not to odmn-e is all the art T know 

(Plain truth, dear Murray, net ds few flower* 
of speech) 

■^o make men happy, or to keep them so ; " 
(So take it in the very words of Crerch). 

Thus Horace wrote we all know long iigo ; 
And thus Pope quotes the precept to re-teacA 

From his translation ; but had none admired, 

WouldPope have sung,or Horace been inspired 

CII. 

Baba, when all tJie damsels were withdrawn., 

Motion'd to Juair to approach, and then 
A second time desired him to kneel down. 

And kiss the lady's foot; which maxim when 
He heard repi-atcd, Juan wiih a frown 

Drew hinrself up to his full height again, 
And said," Itgrieved him, buthe could nut stoop 
To any shoe, unless it shod the Pope " 

cm. 
Baba, indignant at this ill-timed pride. 

Made fierce remonstrances, and then a threat 
He nuitter'd (but the last was given aside) 

About a bow-string — quite in vain; not yet 
Would Juan bend, though 'twere to Mahomet's 
bride : 

There's nothing m the world Mke etiquette 
In kingly chambers or imperial halls. 
As also at the race and county balls. 

ctv. 
He stood like Atlas, with a world of words 

About his ears, and nathless would not bend ; 
The Wood of all his line's Castilian lords 

Boil'd in his veins, and rather than descend 
To stain his pedigree a thousand swords 

A thousand times of him had made an end; 
At length perceiving the " foot " could not 

stand, 
Baba proposed that he should kiss the hand. 

cv 
Here was an honourable compromise, 

A half-way house of diplomatic rest. 
Where they might meet in much more pear© 
ful guise; 

And Juan now his willingness exprcst. 
To use all fit and proper courtesies, 

Adding, tliat this was commonest and best, 
For through the South, the custom still conv 

mands 
The gentleman to kiss the lady's hands. 

cvi. 
And he advanced, though with bxit a bad grace, 

Though on more thorough-bred'^ or fairer 
lingers 
No lips e'er left their transit(u-y trace : 

On such as these the lip too fondly hnger« 



1394 



DON^ JUAN. 



ind for one lass \rould fain imprint a brace, 

As you will see, if she you love shall bring 

hers _ _ [ger's 

In contact; and sometimes even a fair stran- 

An almost twelvemonth's constancy endangers. 



They trod as upon necks; and to compile 

Her state (ic is the custom of her nation), 
A poniard deck'd her girdle, as the sign 
She was a sultan's bride, (thank Heaven, no* 
n4ne!) 



rhe lady eyed him o'er and t'er, and bade 
Baba retire, which he obey'd in style, 

As if well used to the retreating trade; 

And taking hints in good pan all the while, 

He whisper d Juan not to be afraid, 

And looking on him with a sort of smile, 

Took leave, with such a face of satisfaction. 

As good men wear who have done a virtuous 
action. 

CVIII. 

WTfen he was gone, there was a sudden change : 
I know not what might be the lady's thought. 

But o'er her bright brow flash'd a tumult strange, 
And into her clear check the blood was 
brought, 

Blood-red as sunset summer clouds wl rich range 
The verge of Heaven : and in her large eyes 
wrought 

A mixture of sen ,iOons, might be scnnn'd, 

Of half voluptuousness and half command. 

cir. 

Her form had all the softness of her ?ox. 
Her features all the sweetness of the devil, 

When he put on the cherub to perplex 

Eve, and paved (God knows how) the road 
to evil; [specks 

The sun himself was scarce more free from 

Than she from aught at which the eye could 

cavil; [A'here wanting, 

Vet, somehow, there was something some- 

As if she lather order d than was granting. — 



Something imperial, or imperious, threw 
A chain o'er all she did; that is, a chain 

Was thrown as 't were about the neck of you — • 
And rapture's self will seem almost a pain 

With aught which looks like despotism in view: 
Our souls at least are free, and 'tis in vain 

We would against them make the flesh obey — 

The spirit in the end will have its way. 

CXI. 

Her very smile was haughty, though so sweet; 

Her very nod was not an inclination; 
There was a self-will even in her small feet. 

As though they were quite conscious of her 
station — 



* To hear and to obey" had been from hiith 
The law of all around her; to fulfil 

All phantasies which yielded joy or mirth. 
Had been her slaves' chief pleasure, as her 
will; 

Her bl(»d was high, her beauty scarce of earth 
Judge, then, if her caprices e'er stood stili; 

Had she but been a Christian, I've a notion 

We shotild have found out the " perpetual 
motion 

CXIII. 

Whate'er she saw and coveted was brought; 

Whaie'e" she did not see, if she supposed 
It might be seen, with diligence was sought, 

And when 't was found straightway the bar- 
gain closed: 
There was no end unto the things she bought . 

Noi* JO the trouble which her fancies caused; 
Yet (,fen her tyranny had such a grace. 
The women pardon'd ail except her face, 

cxiv. 
Juan, the latest of her whims, had caught. 

Her eye in passing on his way to sale; 
She order'd him directly to be bought, 

And Baba, who had ne'er been known to fail 
In any kind of mischief to be wrought. 

At all such auctions knew how to prevail-. 
She had no prudence, but he had; and this 
Explains the garb which Juan took amiss. 



His youth and features favour'd the disguise 
And, should you ask how she, a sultan't 
bride. 

Could risk or compass such strange phantasies, 
This I must leave sultanas to decide: 

Emperors are only husbands in wives' eye«. 
And kings and consorts oft are mystified. 

As we may ascertain with due prec'sion. 

Some by experience, others by tradition. 

CXVI. 

But to the main point, where we have beaa 
tending : — 

She now conceived all difficulties past, 
And deem'd herself extremely condescending 

When, being made her property ii laat. 



DON JUxVX. 



39; 



Without more preface , 1 ii her bl ue eyes blendin g 

Passion and pjwer, a glance on him she cast, 

Alia merely saying, "Christian, canst thou 

lov8?" [move. 

Conceived that phrase was quite enough to 

cxvti. 
And so it was, in proper time and place; 

Bat J iian. w]y had siiW his mind o'erflowing 
With Haide'^s i.sie and soft Ionian face. 
Felt the warm bhiod, which in his face wa* 
glowing, 
Uush back upon his heart, which filled apace 
And left his cheeks as pale as snow-drops 
blowing: [spears, 

The^e words went through his soul like Arab- 
So that he spoke not, but burst into tears, 

CXV'iI, 

She was a good deal shock'd; not shock'd at 
tears, 

For women shed and use them at their liking 
But there is something when man's eye appears 

Wet, still more disagreeable and striking: 
A woman's tear-drop melts, a man's half sears, 

Like molten lead, as if you thrust a pike in 
His heart to force it out, for (to be shorter) 
To them 'tis a relief, to us a tortui'C, 

cxix. 
And she would have consoled, but knew not 
how : 

Having no eqiials, nothing which had e'er 
Infected lier with sympathy till now. 

And never having dreamt what 't was to bear 
AuQiht of a serious, sorrowing kind, although 

There might arise some pouting petty care 
To cross her brow, she wonder'd how so near 
Her eye another's eyes could shed a tear, 

cxx. 
But nature tea»hes more than power can spoil, 

And when a strong although a strange sen- 
sation 
Moves — female hearts are such a genial soil 

For kinder feelings, whatsoe'er their nation. 
They naturally pour the " wine and oil," 

Samaritans in every situation; 
And thus Gulbeyaz, though .she knew not why 
Felt an odd glistening moisture in her eye. 

cxxi. 
But tears must stop like all things else ; and soon- 
Juan, who for an instant liad been moved 
To such a M.now by the intrusive tone 

Of one who dared to ask if " he had loved," 
Caird back the stoic to his eyes, which shone 

Bright with the very weakness he reproved; 
And although sensitive to beauty, he 
Fell most indignant still at not being free. 



cxxir, 

Gull-.cyaz, (or the first time in her days. 
Was much embarrass'd, never having root 

In all her life with aught save prayers and prais«y, 
And as she also risk'd her life to get 

Him whom she meant to tutor in love's wavs 
Into a comfortable tete-a-tftte, 

To lose the hour would make her quite amart\iV 

And they had waited now almost a quarter, 

CXXIII. 

I also would suggest the titting time, 
To gentlemen in any such like case, 

That is to say— in a meridian clime. 

With us there is more law given tothechasa 

But here a small delay forms a great crime: 
So recollect that the extremest grace 

Is just two minutes for your declaration^ 

A moment more would hurt your reputation, 

CXXIV, 

Juan's was good; and might have been sUIl 
belter. 

But he had got Haidee into his head: 
However strange, he could not yet forget her, 

Whi'-.hmade him seem exceedingly il'.-breiL 
Gulbeyaz, who look'd on him as her debtor 

For having had him to her palace led, 
Began to biusb up to the eyes, and then 
Grow deadly ijale, and then biush back again. 

cxxv 

At length, in an imperial way, she laid 

Her hand on his, anil bending on him eyes. 

Which needed not an empire to persuade, 
Loolv'd into his for love, where none replies: 

Her brow grew black, but she would not upbraiil, 
Thatbeingthelastthingaproud woman tries • 

She ro^e, and pausingone chaste moment, threw 

Herself upon his breast, and there she grew 

CXXVl. 

This was an awkward test, as ,Tuan found, 
But he was sleel'd by soitow, wrath, and pride. 

With gentle force her white anns he unwound' 
And sealed her all drooping by his side, 

Then rising haughtily he glanced around. 
And looking coldly in her face, he cried, 

" The prksoa'd. eagle will not pais-, nor 1 

Serve a sultana's sensual phantasj. 

CXXVII. 

" Thou ask'st. if I can love? be ibis the prool 
Howmuch I A«yf loved — that I \{>ver\nitJi«e. 

In tlrJs Tile garb, the distaif, w<-b, and woof, 
Were liitir for me • Love is for the free ! 



39G 



DON JUAN. 



I am not dazzled by this splendid roof; 

Whate'er thr power, and great it seem? to be ; 
Heads bow, Itnees bend, eyes watch around a 

throne, 
And hands obey — our hearts are still our own." 

CXXVIII. 

his was a truth to us extremely trite ; 
Not so to her,who ne'er had heard such things: 
She deem'd her least command muat yield 
delight, 
Earth being only made for queens and kings. 
If hearts lay on the left side or the right 

She hardly knew, to such perfection brings 
Legitimacy its born votaries, when 
Aware of their due royal rights o'er men. 

oxxix. 
Besides, as has been said, she was so fair 

As even in a much humbler lot had made 
A kingdom or confusion any where, 

And also, as may be presumed, she laid 
Some stresson charms, which seldom are, if o'er, 

Bv their possessors thrown into the shade : 
She thought hers gave a double " right divine; " 
And half of that opinion 's also mine. 

cxxx. 

Remember, or (if you can not) imagine, 
Ye 1 who have kept your chasti ty when young, 

While some more desperate dowager has been 

wagiikg [stung 

r.ove with you, and been in the dog-days 

By your refusal, recollect her raging ! 
Or recollect all that was said or sung 

On such a subject: tlien suppose the face 

Of a young downright beauty in this case. 

CXXXI. 

Suppose, — but you alreaily have supposed. 
The spouse of P »tiphar, the Lady Booby, 

Phsedra, and all which story has disclosed 
Of good exami)les ; pity that so few by 

Poets and private tutors are exposed, 
To educate— ye youth of Europe — you by! 

But when you have supposed the tew we know^ 

You can't suppose Gulbeyaz' angiy brow. 

•CXXXIl. 

A tigress robb'd of young, a lioness, 

Or any interesting beast of prey, 
Are similes at hand for the distress 

Of ladies who can not have their own way; 
But though my turn will not be served with less, 

These don't express one half what I should 
say : 
For what is stealing young ones, few or many, 
To flitting short tlieir hopes of having any? 



CXXXXII. 

The love of offspring "s nature's general law. 
From tigresses and cubs to ducks and duck- 
^hngs: [cla>» 

There 's nothing whets the beak, or arms iht 
Like an invasion of their babes and sucklings 
And all who have seen a human nursery, sa\» 
How mothers love their children's sqiiai - :-. 
and chucklings ; ,# 

This strong extreme effect (to tire no longer 
Your patience) shows the cause must still b« 
stronger. 

CXXXIT. 

If I said fire flash'd from Gulbeyaz' eyes, 
'T were nothing — for her eyes flash'd always 
fire ; 

Or said her cheeks assumed the deepest dyes 
I should but bring disgrace upon the dyer, 

So supernatural was her passion's rise ; 

For ne'er till now she knew a check'd desire : 

Even ye wiic know what a check'd woman is 

(Enough, God knows !1 would much fall short 
of this. 

cxxxv. 
ETer rage was but a minute's, and 'twas -well— 
A moment's more had slain her ; but the 
while 
It lasted 't was like a short glimpse of hell : 

Nought's more sublime than (•ncrgciic bile 
Though horrible to -see yet grand to tell. 

Like ocean warring 'gainst a rocky isle ; 
And the deep passions flashing through het 

Ibrm 
Made her a beautiful embodied storm. 

cxxxvi. 
A vulgar tempest "t were to a typhoon 

To match a common fury with her rage, 
And yet she did not want to reach the moon. 

Like moderate Hotspur on the immortal page. 
Her anger pitch'd into a lower tune, 

Perhaps the fault of her soft sex and age— 
Her wish was but to " kill, kill, kill,' like Lear's 
And then her thirst of blood was quench 'd ia 
tears. 

cxxxrii. 

A stoiTn it raged, and like the storm itpass"d, 
Pass'd without words — in fact she could no! 
speak ; 

And then her sex's shame broke in at last, 
A sentiment till then in her but weak. 

But now it flow'd in natural and fast. 
As water through au unexpected leak. 

For she felt hmnblcd — and humiliaiioi: 

Is sometimes good foi ]>co])le in her siiition 



DON JUAN. 



:07 



CXXXVIil, 

It teaches them that they are flesh and blood, 

It also gently hints to them that others, 
Although of clay, aie yet not quite of mud ; 

That urns and pipkins are but Irugile brothers, 
And works ol' the same pottery, bad or good, 

Though not all born of tlie same sires and 
mothers : 
ItLeacl es — Heaven knows only whatit teaches, 
Hu' soroelimes it may mend, and often reaches. 

cxxxix. 
Her first thought was to cut off Juan s head ; 

Her second, to cut only his- — acquaintance; 
Ker third, to ask him where he had been bred ; 

Her fourth, to rally him into repentance; 
Her fifth, to call her maids and go to bed ; 

Her sixth, to stab herself; her seventh, to 
sentence 
The la?h to Baba: — but her grand resource 
Was *o sit down again, and cry of course, 

CXL. 

She thought to stab herself, but then she had 
The daiiger close at hand, wiiich made it 
awkward ; 

For Eastern stays are little made to pad, 
So that a poniard pierces if 't is Estuck hard : 

She thought of killing Juan — but, poor lad I 
Though he deserved it well for being so 
backward. 

The cutting od' his head was not the art 

Most likely to attain her aim — his heart. 

CXLI. 

Juan was moved : he had made up his mmd 

To be impaled, or quarter'ti as a disli 
For dogs, or to be slain with pangs refined, 

Or thrown to lions, or made baits for fish, 
And thus heroically stood resign d. 

Rather than sin — except to his own wish: 
But all his great pre])araiives for dying 
Dissolved like snow before a woman crying. 

CXI.II. 
As through his palms Bob Acres' valour oozed, 

So Juan's virtue ebb'd, I know not how; 
And first he wonder'd why he had i-efu;ed ; 

And then, if matters could be made up now ; 
And r.ext his savage virtue lie accused, 

Just us a friar may accuse his vow, 
Or as a dame repehts her of her oath, 
VVnich mostly ends in some small breach of both, 

CXLIII. 

Bo he began to stammer some excuses ; 

But words are not enough in such a matter, 
Although you borrow'd all that e'er the muses 

Hsve sung, or even a Dardy's dandiest 
chatter. 



Or all tlie figures Castlereagh abuses : 

Just as a languid smile began to flatter 
His peace was m-iking, but before he ventured 
Further, old Baba ratlier briskly ciiter'd. 

CXLIV. 

* Bride of the Sun ! and Sisr.ei of the IMoon \' 

('T was thus he spake,) " and Empress erf 

the Earth! [tune, 

Whose frown would put the spheres all out ol 

Whose smile makes all the planets dance 

with mirth, [soon — 

your slave brings tidings — he hopes not too 
"Which your sublime attention may be worth 

The Sun himself has sent me like a ray. 

To hint that he is coming up Uiis way " 



•Is it," exclaim'd Gulbeyaz, " as y(m say? 
I wsh to heaven he would not shine til'i 
morning ■;' 
But bid my women fonn the milky way. 
Hence, my okl comet ! give the stars du»' 
warning — 
And, Christian ! mingle with them as yoa mar 
And as you'd have me pardon your past 

scorning " 

Here they wo-e interrupted by a humming 
Sound, and then by a cry, " The Sultan i 
coming ! ' 

CXLVI. 

First came her damsels, a decorous file. 
And then his Highness' eunuch-s, black ana 
while ; 

f he train might reach a quarter of a mile: 
His majesty was always so polite 

As to announce his vi.^ils a lo3:g while 
Before he came, especially at night; 

For being the last wife of the Euiperour, 

She was of course the favourite of the four. 

CXLVTI. 

His Highness was a man of solemn port, 
Shawl'd to the nose, aiid bearded to the oye». 

Snatch'd from a prison to preside at court, 
His lately bowstrmig brother causeil his rise 

He was as good a sovereign of the sort 
As any mention d in the histories 

Of Canteniir, oi' Knolles, where ttw shine 

Save Solyman, the glory of their line. 

CXI.VIII. 

He went to mosque in state, and said hisprayen 
With jnore than " Oriental scrupulosity ;'' 

He left to his vi/.ier all state utlairs, 
And t,how'd but little '.x)yal curiosity; 



398 



DON JUAN. 



I know not if he had domestic cares — 

No process proved conimbiul animosity; 
Four wives and twice live hundred maids, 

unseen, 
Were ruled as calmly as a Christian queen. 

cxr.ix. 
I now and then there happcn"d a slight slip, 
Little was heard of criminal or crime ; 
he vstory scarcely pass'd a single lip — 
The sack and sea had settled all in time, 
roni which the s^ecret nobody could rip: 
The public knew no more than does this 
rhyme ; 
No scandids made the daily press a curse — 
Morals were better, and the hsh no worse. 



He saw with his own eyes the moon was round, 
Was also certain that the earth was square, 

Because he had journey'd fifty miles, and found 
No sign that it was circular any where; 

His empire also was without a bound: 
'T is true, a little troubled here and there. 

By rebel pachas, and encroaching giaours, 

But then they never came to " the Seven 
Towers; "'6 

CM. 

Except in shape of envoys, who were sent 
To lodge there when a war broke out, ac- 
cording 
To the true law of nations, which ne'er meant 
Those scoundi-els, who have never had a 
sword ill 
Their dirty diplomatic hands, to vent 

Their spleen in making stiife, and safely 
wording 
Their lies, yclep'd despatches, without risk or 
The singeing of a single inky whiiker. 



He had fifty daughters and four dozen sons. 
Of whom all such as came of age were stow'd, 

The former in a palace, where like nuns 
They lived till someBashaw was sent abroad, 

When she, whose turn it was, was wed at once, 
Sometimes at six years old 7' — though this 
seems odd, 

T is true ; the reason is, that the Bashaw 

Must make a present to his sire in law 



Meantime the education they went through 
Was princfly, as the proofs have aiway* 
shown • 
So that the heir apparent still was found 
No less deserving to be hang"d than rrowu'd, 

CLIV. 

His Majesty saluted his fourth spouse 
With all the ceremonies of his rank. 

Who clear'd her sparkling eyes and smooth' 
her brows, 
As suits a matron who has play'd a prank; 

These must seem doubly mindful of their vows, 
To save the credit of their breaking bank: 

To no men are such cordial gi-eetings given. 

As those Mhose wives have made them fit for 
heaven. 

CLV. 

His Highness cast around his great black eyes. 
And looking, a-s he always lookd, perceived 

Juan amongst the damsels in disguise. 

At which he seem'd no whit surprised n->r 
giieved. 

But just remark 'd with air sedate and wise. 
While still a fiutleringsighGulbeyaz heaved 

" I sec you've bought another girl; 'tis pity 

That a mere Christian should behalf so pretty/' 



This compliment, which drew all eyes upon 
The new-bought virgin, made her blush and 
shake 

Her comrades, also, thought themselves uadone; 
Oh I Mahomet! that his Majesty should take 

Such notice of a giaour, while scarce to one 
Of them his lips imperial ever spake ! 

There was a general whisper, toss, and wriggle. 

But etiquette forbade them all to giggle. 

CLVII 

The Turks do well to shut — at least, som» 
times — 

The women up— because, in sad reality, 
Their chastity in these unhappy climes 

Is not a thing of that astringent quality, 
W^hich in the North, prevents precocious crrji«*, 

And makes oirr snow less pure thaa ctB 
morality; 
The sun, which yearly melts the polar ice. 
Has quite the contrary effect on vice. 



CLIII. 

His sons we.e kept in prison, lill they grew 
Of years to fill a bo\\stiing or the tlirone. 

One or the other, but which of the two 
Could yet be 'tnown uulo the fates alone; 



CLVIII. 

Thus in the East they are extremely strict. 
And wedlock and a padlock mean the samel 

Excepting only wh^n the former's pick'd 
It ne'er can be replaced in proper frame; 



DON JUAN. 



399 



Spoilt, as a pipe of claret is when prick'd. 

Bat then their own polygauiy's to blame; 
Why don't they knead two virtuous souls for life 
Into that moral centaur, man and wife ? 

CLIX. 

Tins far our chronicle; and now we pause, 
Though not for want of matter ; but 'tis time, 

According to the ancient epic laws, 

To slacken sail, and anchor with our rhyme. 

Let this fifth canto meet with due applause. 
The sixth shall have a touch of the sublime ; 

Meanwhile, as Homer sometimes sleeps, per- 
haps 

You "11 pardon to my muse a few short naps. 



Bon 3juan. 



PREFACE TO 
CANTOS VI. VII. AND VIII. 

The details of the siege of Ismail in two of 
the following cantos {i. e. the seventh and 
eighth) are taken from the French Work, en- 
titled " Histoire de la Nouvelle Russie." Some 
of the incidents attributed to Don Juan really 
occurred, particularly the circumstance of his 
saving the infant, which was the actual case 
of the late Due de Richelieu, then a young 
volunteer in the Russian service, and after- 
ward the founder and benefactor of Odessa"^, 
where his name and memory can never cease 
to be regarded with reverence. 

In the course of these cantos, a stanza or 
two will be found relative to the late Manpiis 
of Londonderry, but written some time before 
his decease. Had that person's oligarchy died 
arith him, they would have been suppressed ; 
AS it is, I am aware of nothing in the manner 
6f his death"9 or of his life to prevent the free 
expression of the opinions of all whom his 
whole existence was consumed in endeavour 
Jig to enslave. That he was an amiable man 
in private life, may or may not be true; but 
with this the public have nothing to do ; and 
as to lamenting his death, it will be time 
enough when Ireland has ceased to mourn for 
his birth. As a minister, I, for one of millions, 
.ooked upon him as the most despotic in inten- 
tion, and the weakest in intellect, that evei 



tyrannised over a country. It is the first time 
indeed since the Normans that England has 
been insulted by a minister (at least) who could 
not speak English, and lliat Parliament per 
milted itself to be dictated to in the language 
of Mrs. Malaprop. 

Of the manner of his death little need be 
said, except that if a poor radical, such a.- 
Waddington or Watson, had cut his throat 
he would have been buried in a cross-road 
with ihe usual appurtenances of the slake ant 
mallet. But the minister was an elegant lunatii 
— a sentimental suicide — he merely cut iht 
" carotid artery," (blessings on their learuiug! 
and lo ! the pageant, and the Abbey ! and" tlu 
svllables of doiour yelled forih" by the news- 
papers — and the harangue of the Coroner in a 
eulogy over the bleeding body of ihe deceased^- 
(an Anihony worthy of such a Caesar}— and the 
nauseous and atrocious cant of a degraded crew 
of conspirators against all that is sincere and 
honourable. In his death he was necessarily ' 
one of two things by the ZawSO — a felon or a 
madman — and in either case no gi'eat subject 
for panegyric. In his life he was — what all 
the world knows, and half of il will feel lor 
years to come, unless his death prove a " moral 
lesson " to the surviving Sejani^l of Europe, it 
may at least serve as soma consolation lo the 
nations, that their oppressors are not happy, 
and in some instances judge so justly oi their 
own actions as to anticipate the sentence of 
mankind. Let us hear no more of this man ; 
and lei, Ireland remove the ashes of herGraitan 
from the sanciuary of Westminster. Shall the 
patriot of humanity repose by the Werther ot 
politics ! ! I 

With regard to the objections which have 
been made on another score to the already 
published cantos of this poem, I shall content 
myself with two quotations from Voltaire : — • 
" La pudeiu" s'esi enfuite des coeurs, et s'est 
refugiee sur les levres." ..." Plus les moeurs 
sont depraves, plus les expressions deviennent 
mesurees; on croit regagner en langage ce 
qu'on a perdu en vertu." 

This is the real fact, as applicable to tk* 
degraded and hypocritical mass which leavens 
the present English generation, and is the only 
answer they deserve. The hackneyed and 
lavished title of Blasphemer — which, with 
Radical. Liberal, Jacobin, Reformer, fee. aro 
the changes which the hirelings are daily 
ringing in the ears of those who will listen- 
should be welcome to all who recollect on who^m 
it was originallv bestowed. Socrates and Jesua 



mo 



TfO^ JUAN. 



Christ were put to death publicly as blas- 
vheinert, and so have been and may be many 
who dare to oppose the most notorious abuses 
of the name of God and the mind of man. But 
persecution is not rel'utation, nor even triumph : 
the " wretched infidel," as he is called, is pro- 
bably happier in his prison than the proudest 
of his assailants. With his opinions I have 
nothing to do — they may be right or wrong — 
but he has suJi'ered for them, and that very 
sutiering for conscience' sake will make more 
proselytes to deism than the example of hete- 
rodox,8- Prelates to Christianity, suicide states- 
men to oppression, or overpensioned homicides 
to tlie impious alliance which insults the world 
Willi the name of " Holy ! " I have no wish to 
trample on the dishonoured or tlie dead; but 
it would be well if the adherents to the classes 
from whence those persons sprung should abate 
a little of the ca}it whicli is the crying sin of 
:his double-dealing and false-speaking time of 

Belfish spoilers, and but enough for the 

present. 
Pisa, Jvdy, 1S22. 



CANTO THE SIXTH. 



Thkue is a tide in the affairs of men 
Which, — taken at the flood," — you know 
the rest83, 
And most of us have found it now and then ; 
At least we think so, though but few have 
guess'd 
The moment, till too late to come again. 

But no doubt every thing is ibr the best— 
Of which the surest sign is in the end: 
V\'hen things are at the worst they sometimes 
mend. 

II. 
There is a tide in the affairs of women 

Whioii, taken at the flood, leads — God 
knows where . 
Those navigators must be able seamen 

Whose charts lay down its current to a hair; 
Not all the reveries of Jacob Behmen84 
With its strange whirls and eddies can com- 
pare: 
Men with their heads reflect on this and that — 
But*w( men with their heartson heaven knows 
what ' 



^nd yet aheadlong, headstrong, downright she^ 
Young, beautiful, and daring — who wt>uld 
risk 

i throne, the world, the universe, to be 
Beloved in her own way, and rather whisk 

The stars from out the sky, than not be free 
As aie the billows when the breezeis brisk — • 

Though such a she 's a devil (if that there be 
one). 

Yet she would make full many a Manichean, 



Thrones, worlds, et cetera, are so oft upset 
By commonest ambition, that when passion 

O'erthrows the same, ue readily (oigel, 
Or at the least forgive, the loving rash one. 

If Anthony be well remembei'd yet, 

T is not his conquests keep his name in 
fashion. 

But Actium, lost lor Cleopatra's eye&, 

Outbalances all Caesar's victories. 



He died at rifty for a queen of forty ; 

I wish their years had been fifteen and 

twenty, [sport — I 

For then w^eallh, kingdoms, worlds are but a 

Remember when, though I had no great 

plenty 

Of worlds to cse, yet still, to pay my couit, I 

Gave wliat i had — a heart ; as the w orld 

went, I fcould never 

Gave what was -worth a world ; for worlds 

Restore me those pui'e feelings, gone for ever. 



'T was the boy's" mite," and like the " widow's," 
may 

Perhaps be weigh'd hereafter, if not now; 
But whether such things do or do not weigh, 

All who have loved, or love, will still allow 
Life has nought like it. God is love, they say, 

And Love 's a God, or was belore the brow 
Oi' earth was wrinkled by the sins and tears 
Of — but Chronology best knows the years. 



We left our hero and tliird heroine in 

A kind of state more awkwa.d than un- 
common, 

For gentlemen must sometimes risk their skia 
For that sad tempter, a Ibrbidden woman * 

Sultans too much aljhor this sort of .sin. 

And drHi't agree at all with the wise Roman," 

Heroic, stoic Cato, the scnleutions, 

Who I'.-nt his lady to his friend Hortensius. 



DON JUAN. 



401 



VIII. 

I koow Gulbeyaz was extremely wrong; 

I own it, I deplore it, I condemn it ; 
But I detest all fiction even in song, 

And so must tell the truth, howe'er you 
blame it. ■■ 
Her reason being weak, her passions strong 
Shethouglit that her lord's heart (even could 
she claim it) 
Was scarce enough ; for he had fifty-nine 
Yoai's, and a fifteen-hundredth concubine. 

IX. 

* am not, like Cassio, " an arithmetician," 
But by " the bookish theoric" it appears, 

If 't is summ'd up with feminine precision. 
That, adding to the account his Highness 
years. 

The fair Sultana err'd from inanition ; , 
For, were the Sultan just to all his df.ars. 

She could but claim the fifteen-hundredth part 

Of what should be monopoly — the heart. 

X. 

It is observed that ladies 'are litigious 
Upon all legal oibjccts of possession. 
And not the least so when they are religious. 
Which doubles what they think of the 
transgression ; 
With suits and prosecutions they besiege us, 
As the tribunals show through many a 
session. 
When they suspect that any one goes shares 
lu that to which the law makes them sole 
heirs. 

XI. 

Nosv, if this holds good in a Christian land, 
The heathen also, though with lesser lati- 
tude, 
Are apt to carry things with a high hand. 
And take, what kings call " an imposing 
attitude ;" 
And for their rights connubial make a stand, 
When their iiege husbands ti'eat them with 
ingratitude ; 
A ad as four wives must have quadruple claims, 
The Tigi-is hath its jealousies like Thames. 

XII. 

Gulbeyaz was the fourth, and (as I said) 
The fa vourite ; but what 's favour amongst 
four ? 

Pi)lygamy may well be helil in dread, 
Not only as a sin, but as a bore: 

M<'st wise men with one moderate woman wed, 
Will scarcely find philosophy for more ; 

And all (except Mahometans) forbear 

To make the nuptial couch a " Bed of 
Warc.'M 

27 



His Highness, the sublimest of mankind, 

So styled accf)rding to the usual forms' 
Of every monarc-h, till they are consign'c. 

To those sad hungry jacobins the worms, 
Who on the very loftiest kings have dined,-!- 

His Highness gazed upon Gulbeyaz' charm% 
Expecting all the welcome of a lover [over) 
(A "Highland welcome" all the wide woil-i 

xn~. 
Now here we shoulc distinguish; for howe'c? 

Kisses, sweet words, embraces, and all tha'., 
May look like what is — neither here nor there 

They are put on as easily as a hat. 
Or rather bonnet, which the fair sex wear, 

Triinm'd either heads or he;u ts to decorate 
Which form an ornament, but no raore par; 
Of heads, than their caresses of the heart 



A slight blush, a soft tremor, a calm kind 
Of gentle feminine delight, and shown 

More in the eyelids than the eyes, resign'd 
Rather to hide what pleases most unkno^ru 

Are the best tokens (to a mode.-t mimr, 
Of love, when seated on his loveliest throns, 

A sincere woman's breast, — for oyer-tcanr. 

Or ovei-coid annihilates the charm. 

XVI. 

For over-warmth, if false, is worse than truth} 
If true, 'tis no gi-eat lease of its own fire ; 

For no one, save in very early youth. 

Would like (J think) to trust all to desire, 

Which is but a ])recarious bond, in sooth, 
And apt to be transfcrr'd to the first buyer 

At a sad uiscount: while ytiur over «;hillv 

Women, on t'other hand, seem somewhat 
silly. 

XVII. 

That is, we cannot pardon their bad taste. 
For so it seems to lovers swift or slov.-. 

Who fain -would have a mutual flame confess d, 
And see a sentimental passion glow. 

Even were St. Francis' p;n-am»ur their guest, 
In his monastic concubine of snow ; — "'' 

In short, the maxim for the amorous tribe is 

Horatian, " Medio tu tutissimus ibis." 

XVI 11. 

The " tu" 's too much, — but let it stand, — tiic 
verse 
Requiresit,that'stosay, the English rhyme 
And not the pink of old hexani'-ters : 

But, after all, there's neither tune i.-or HnM 
2 D 



402 



DON JUAN. 



in the last line, which cannot well be worse, 
And was thrust in to close the octave's 
chime : 
I own no prosody can ever rate it 
As a rule, but truth may, if you translate it* 

XIX. 

If fair Gulbeyaz overdid her part, 

I know not — it succeeded, and success 

l6 much in most things, not less in the heart 
Than other articles of female dress. 

Self-love in man, too, beats all female art; 
They lie, we lie, all Ha, but love no less: 

And no one virtue yet, except starvation, 

Could stop that worst of vices — propagation. 

XX. 

We lea\e this royal couple to repose 

A bed is not a throne, and they may sleep, 

W'hate'er their dreams be, if of joys or woes : 
Yet disappointed joys are woes as deep 

As any man's clay mixture undergoes. 

Our least of sorrows are such as we weep ; 

'Tis the vile daily drop on drop which wears 

The soul out (like the stone) with petty cares. 

XXI. 

A scolding wife, a sullen son, a bill 

To pay, unpaid, protested, or discounted 

At a percentage; a child cross, dog ill, 
A favourite horse fallen lame just as he's 
mounted, 

A. bad old woman making a worse will, 
Which leaves you minus of the cash you 
counted 

As certain ; — these are paltry things, and yet 

I've rarely seen the man they did not fret. 

XXII. 

I 'm a philosopher ; confound them all ! 

Bills, beasts, and men, and — no ! not 
womankind ! 
With one good hearty curse I vent my gall, 

And then my stoicism leaves nought behind 
VVhich it can either pain or evil call. 

And 1 can give my whole soul up to mind; 
Though what is soul or mind, their birth or 
growth, [both ! 

Is more than I know — the deuce take them 

XXIII. 

So nuw all things are d — n'd one feels at ease, 
As after reading Athanasius" curse, 

Which doth your true believer so nmch please : 
I doubt if any now could make it worse 

O'er his worst enemy when at his knees, 
Tis so sententious, positive, and terse, 

Ai*l decorates the book of Common Prayer, 

As doth a rainbow the just cleai-injj air. 



XXIV. 

Gulbeyaz and her lord were sleeping, or 
At least one of them ! — Oh, the heavy night 

When wicked wives, who love some bachelor 
Lie down in dudgeon to sigh for the light 

Of the g}-ey morning, and look vainly for 
Its twinkle through the lattice dusky quite—* 

To toss, to tumble, doze, revive, and quake 

Lest their too lawful bed-fellow should watfli 

XXV. 

These are beneath the canopy of heaven. 
Also beneath the canopy of beds. 

Four-posted and silk curtain'd, which are given 

For rich men and theii brides to lay tbcir 

heads T" driven 

Upon, in sheets white as what bards call 
Snow."87 Well! 'tis all hap-hazard when 
one weds. 

Gulbeyaz was an empress, but had been 

Perhaps as wretched if a ^;easa?j<'s quean. 

XXVI. 

Don Juan in his feminine disguise, 

With all the damsels in their long array, 

Had bow'd themselves before th' imperial eyea 
And at the usual signal ta'en their way 

Back to their chambers, those long galleries 
In the seraglio, where the ladies lay 

Their delicate limbs; athousaud hosomsthv-re 

Beating for love, as the caged bird s for air. 

XXV [I. 

I love the sex, and sometimes would reverse 

The tyrant' s88 wish, " that mankind onlj 

had [pierce :* 

One neck, which he with one fell stroke might 
My wi&h is quite as wide, but not so bad 

And much more tender on the whole than 
fierce ; 
It being (not now, but only while a lad) 

That womankind had but one rosy mouth. 

To kiss them all at once from North to Soutb 

XXVIII, 

Oh, enviable Briareus! with thy hands 
And heads, if thouhadstall thingsmultiplied 

In such proportion I — Butmy Muse withstands 
The giaui thought of being a Titan's bride, 

Or travelling in Putagonian lands ; 
So let us back to Lilliput, and guide 

Our hero through the labyrinth of love, 

In which we loft him several lines above. 

XXIX. 

He went forth with the lovely Odalisques,** 
At the given signal Join'd to their array; 

And though he certainly ran many risks, 
Yet he could not at times ke4?p, by the way 



DO^^ JUAN. 



403 



(Although the conscqticnces of such frisks 

Are. worse than the worst damages men pay- 
In moral England, where the thing's a tax,) 
From ot;ling ail their charms from breasts to 
backs. 



Still he forgot not his disguise : — along 

The galleries from room to room they wallc'd, 

A virgin-like and edifying throng, [stalk'd 
By eunuchs liank'd ; while at theirhead there 

A dame who kept up disei})line among [talk'd, 
The female ranks, so that none stirr'd or 

Without her sanction on ihcir she-parades : 

Her title was " the Mother of the Maids." 



Wliether she was a " mother," I know not, 
Or whether they were " maids" who call'd 
her mother ; 

But this is her seraglio title, got 

I know not how, but good as any other ; 

So CantemirOO can tell you, or De Tott ;91 
Her office was to keep aloof or smother 

All bad propensities in fifteen hundred 

Young women, and correct them when they 
blunder'd. 

XXXII. 

A goodly sinecure, no doub*. ! but made 
More easy by the absence of all men — 

Except his majesty, — who, witii her aid, 
And guards, and bolts, and walls, and now 
and then 

A slight example, just to cast a shade 

Along the rest, contrived to keep this den 

Of beauties cool as an Italian convent. 

Where all the passions have, ala.s I but one vent. 

XXXIII, 

And what is that ? Devotion, doubtless — 
how [will 

Could you ask such a question? — but we 
Continue. As I said, this goodly row 

Of ladies of all countries at the will 
Of one good man, with stately march and slow, 

Like water-filies floating down a rill — 
Or rather lake — for rills do not run slowly, — 
Paced on most maiden-like and melancholy. 

XXXIV. 

But when they reach'd their own apartments, 
there. 
Like birds, or boys, or bedlamites broke loose. 
Waves at spiing-tide, or women any where 
When freed from bonds (which are of no 
great use 



After all), oi like Lish at a lair, [truce 

Their guards being gone, and as it were a 

Establish'd between them and bondage, they 

Began to sing, dance, chatter, smile, and play. 

XXXV. 

Their talk, of course, ran most on tne new comer; 

Her shape, her hair, her air, her everything- 
Some thought her dress did not so nuich 
become her, 

Or wonder'd at her ears without a ring ; 
Some said her years were getting nigh thei 
summer, 

Othei-s contended they were but in spring; 
Some thought her rather masculine in height, 
While others wish'd that she had been so quite 

XXXVI. 

But no one doubted on the whole, that she 
Was what her dress bespoke, a damsel lair 

And fresh, and " beautiful exceedingly," 
Who with the brightest Georgians02 migb 
compare : 

They wonder'd how Gnlbeyaz, too, could be 
So silly as to buy slAves who might share 

(If that his Highness wearied of his bride) 

Her throne and power, and every thing beside 

XXXVII. 

But what was strangest in this virgin crew, 
Although her beauty was enough to vex. 

After the first investigating view. 

They all found out as few, or fewer, speck 

In the fair foim of their companion new. 
Than is the custom of the gentle sex, 

When they survey, with Christian eyes or 
Heathen, 

In anew face, " the ugliest creature breathing." 

XXXVIII. 

And yet they had their little jealousies, 
Like all the rest ; but upon this occasion, 

Whether there are such things as sympathies 
Without onr knowledge or our approbation, 

Although they could not see through his dis- 
guise. 
All felt a soft kind of concatenation. 

Like magnetism, or devilism, or what 

You please — we will not quarrel about that* 

XXXIX. 

But certain 'tis they all felt for their new 
Companion something newer still, as 'twere 

A sentmiental fiiendship through and through. 
Extremely pure, which made them allcoucur 

In wishing her their sister, save a few 

Who wish'd they had a brother just like her, 

Whom, if they were at hfjme in sweet Circassia, 

They would prefer to Pailisha^^ or PacLa. 
•2d 2 



401 



DON JUAN. 



Of those who liad most geuins for this sort 
Of sentimental friendship, tlierc were three, 

Lolah, Katinka^'*. and Dut'u ; in short. 
(To save descrijaion) fair as fair can be 

Were they, according to the best report. 
Though differing iii stature and degree. 

And clime and time, and country and com- 
plexion ; 

They all alike admired their new connection. 

XLI. 

Lolah was dusk as India and as warm ; 

Katinka was a Georgian^-^, white and red. 
With great blue eyes, a lovely hand and arm, 

And feet so small they scarce seem'd made 
to tread, 
But rather skim the earth ; while Dudu's form 

Look'd moi-e adapted to be put to bed, 
Being somewhat large, and languishing, and 

lazy, 
Yet of a beauty that would drive you crazy. 

XLII. 

A kind of sleepy Venus seem'd Dudii, 
Yet very fit to " miirder sleep" in those 

Who gazed upon her cheek's transcendent hue, 
Her Attic forehead, and her Phidian nose: 

Few angles were there in her form, 'tis tnte, 
Thinner she might have been, and yet scarce 
lose ; 

Yet, after all, 'twould puzzle to say where 

It would not spoil some separate charm to pare. 

XLIH. 

She was not violently lively, but 

Stole on yourspiritiikea May-day breaking; 
Her eyes were not too sparkling, yet, half-shut, 

They put beholders in a tender taking; 
She look'd (this simile's quite new) just cut 

From raarble,likePygmaiion'sstatue waking. 
The mortal and the marble still at strii'e, 
And timidly expanding into life. 

XLIV. 

Lolah demanded the new damsel's name — 
" Juanna. " — Well, a j)retly name enough. 

Katinka ask'd hei also whence she came — 
" From Spain." — " But where is Spain.'" — 
" Don't ask such stuff, [shame ! " 

Kor show your Georgian ignorance — lor 
Said Lolah, with an accent rather rough, 

To pour Katinka : " Spain 's an island near 

Morocco, betwixt Egypt and Tangier." 

XLV. 

Dud a said nothing, but sat down beside 
Juanna, playing with her veil or hair; 

And looking at her stead.'"astly, she sigh'd. 
As if .she pitied her lor being there. 



A pretty stranger without friend or guide, 

And all aba>h'd, too, at the general stare 
"\^'hich welcomes hapless strangers in all placei^ 
With kind remarks upon their mien and face* "* 

XLVI. 

But here the Mother of the Maids drew neaiv 
With, " Ladies, it is xhv.e to go to rest. 

I'm puzzled what to do with you, my dear,' 
She added to .Juanna, their new gviest • 

" Your coming has been unexpected here. 
And every couch is occupied ; you h-id best 

Partake of mine ; but by to-morrow early 

We will have all things settled for you fairly.* 

XLVII. 

Here Lolah interposed^" Mamma, you know 

You don't sleep soundly, and I cannot beat 
That any body should disturb you so; 

I '11 take Juanna ; we 're a slenderer pair 
Than you would make the hdf of; — don't say 
no: [care." 

And I of your young charge will take due 
But here Katinka interfered, and said, 

" She also hud compassion and a bed." 

XLVIIl. 

" Besides, I hate to sleep alone," quoth she. 
The matron frown'd : "Why so?" — "Fci 
fear of ghosts," 
Replied Katinka ; " I am sure I see 

A phantom u])on each of the four posts ; 

And then I have the worst dreams that can be. 

Of Guebrcs, Giaours, and Ginns,and Gouls 

in hosts." [you 

The dame rc})]ied, "Between your dreams and 

1 fear Juauna's dreams would be but few. 

xi.ix. • 
" You, Lolah, must continue .still to lie 

Alone, lor reasons which don't matter; you 
The same, Katinka, until by and by; 

And 1 shall place Juanna with Dudu, 
Who 's quiet, inoffensive, silent, shy, 

And will not toss and chutter the night 
through. 
What say you, child? — Dudu said nothing, aa 
Hei- talents were of the more silent class ; 

I,. 
But she rose up, and kiss'd the matron's brow 
Between the eyes, and Lolah on both cheek i, 
Katinka, too ; and with a gentle bow 

(Ourt'sies are neither used by Turks nor 
Greeks) 
She took Juanna by the hand to show 

Their place of rest, and left to both theil 
piques. 
The others pouting at the matron's preferens 
Of Dudii, though they held their tongues fro 
deference. 



DON JUAN. 



405 



It WIS a spacious chamber (Oda is 

The Turkish title), and ranged round the wall 

Were couches, loik'ts — and inueh more than this 
I miijht describe, as 1 have seen it all, 

But it suffices — little was amiss; 

T was on the u bole a nobly fumish'd hill, 

With all things ladies want, save one or two, 

And even those were nearer than they knew. 

LII. 

Dudu, as has been saitl, was a sweet creature, 
Not very dashing, but extremely winning, 

With the most regulated charms of I'eature, 
Which painters cannot catch like laces sin- 
ning 

Against proportion — the wild strokes of nature 
Which they hit off at once in the beginning. 

Fall of expression, right or wrong, that strike,, 

A_nd pleasing, or unpleasing, still ai'e like. 

LIII. 

But she was a soft landscape of mild earth, 
Where all was harmony, and calm, and quiet, 

Liixuiiunt, budding; cheerful without mirth. 
Which, if not hajipiness, is much more nigh it 

Than are your mighty passions and so forth. 
Which, some call "the sublime:"! wish 
they 'd try it : 

I 've seen your stormy seas and stormy women, 

And pity lovers rather more than seamen. 

LIV. 

But she was pensive more than melancholy.. 
And serious more than pensive, and serene. 

It may be, more than cither — not unho]3' 
Her thoughts, at least till now, a})pear to 
have been. [wholly 

The strangest thing was, beauteous, she was 
Unconscious,albeitturn'd of quick seventeen 

That she was fair, or dark, or short, or tall; 

She never thought about herself at all. 



And therefore was she kind and gentle as 
TheAgc of Gold (when gold was yet luiknown, 

By vhich its nomenc!atiu-e came to pass; 
Thus most appr(jpriately has been shown 

'' Lucus a iioii lucendo," not what was, 

B ut what {<;a& not; a sort of style that's grown 

Extremely common in this age, whose metal 

Tne devil may decompose, but never settle: 

LVI. 

I think it may be of " Corinthian Brass,"96 
Which was a mixture of all metals, but 

The brazen uppermost.) Kind reader ! pass 
Tbis long parenthesis : 1 could not shut 



It sooner for the som of me, and class 

My faults even with your own . whick 
meaneth, Put 
A kind construction upon them and me 
But </ia< you won't — then don t — I am no< 
less tree. 

r.vii. 
T is time we should return to plain narratica. 
And thus my narrative proceeds : — Dudu, ' 
With every kindness short of ostentation, 

Show'd Juan,or Juanna, through and through 

This labyrinth of females, and each station 

Described— what's strange— in words ex 

trcmely few : 

I have but one simile, and that 's a blimder, 

For wordless woman, which is silt:nl thunder 

I.VIII. 

And next she gave her (I say her, because 
The gender still was epicene, at least 

In outward show, which is a saving clause) 
An outline of the customs of the East, 

With all their chaste integrity of laws, 
By which the more a harem is increased. 

The stricter doubtless grow the vestal duties 

Of any supernumerary beauties. 

LIX. 

And then she gave Juanna a chaste kiss : 
Dudu was fond of kissing — which I'm sure 

That nobody can ever lake amiss. 

Because 'tis pleasant, so that it be puie, 

And between females means no more than 

this — [newer. 

That they have nothing better near, or 

'Kiss" rhymes to '* bliss" in fact as well as 
verse — 

I wish it nevei led to something worse. 

LX, 

In perfect innocence she then unmade 
Her toilet, which cost little, for she was 

A cliild of Nature, cai-elessly array'd : 
If fond of a chance ogle at her glass, 

'T wj,b like the fawn, which, in the lake dis 
^lay'd. 
Beholds her own shy, shadowy image pass. 

When first she starts, and then returns to peep, 

Admiring this new native of the deep. 
XX. 

And (me by one her articles of dress 

Were laid aside; but not bcfure she ofler'fi 

Her aid to fair Juanna, whose excess 

Of modesty declined the assistance protfer'd: 

Which pass'd well off — as she could do no less; 
Though by this pohtesse she rather suffer'd, 

Pricking her fingers with those cursed pius 

Which surely were invented for our sins,— 



406 



DON JUAN. 



LXII. 

Making a woman like a porcupine, 

Not to be rashly touch'd But still more 
dread, 

Oh ye ! whose fate it is, as once 'twas mine, 
In early youth, to turn a lady's maid ; — 

I did my very boyish best to shine 
In tricking her out for a masquerade : 

The pins were placed suflScienlly, but not 

Stuck all exactly in the proper spot. 

LXIII. 

But these are foolish things to all the wise, 
And I love wisdom more than she loves me ; 

My tendency is to philosophise 

On most things, from a tyrant to a tree ; 

But still the spouseless virgin Knowledge tlies. 
What are we ? and whence came we ? w hat 
shall be 

Our ultimate existence? what's ot;r present? 

Are questions auswerless, and yet incessant. 

LXIV. 

There was deep silence in the chamber: dim 
And distant from each otherburn'u the lights, 

And slumber hover'd o'er each lovely hmb 
Of the fair occupants: if there be sprites. 

They should have walk'd there in their spright- 
liest trim, 
By way of change from their sepulchral sites, 

And shown themselves as ghosts of better taste 

Than haunting some old ruin or wild waste. 

LXV. 

Many and beautiful lay those aj-ound, 

Like flowers of different hue, and clime, and 
root, 
In some exotic garden sometimes found, 
With cost, and care, and warmth induced 
to shoot. 
One with her auburn tresses lightly bound, 

And fair brows gently drooping, as the fruit 
Nods from the tree, was slumbering with soft 

breath, 
An d lips apart, which show'd the pearls beneath. 

LXVI. 

One with her flush'd cheek laid on her white 

arm, 

And raven ringlets gathcr'd in dark crowd 

Above her brow, lay (heaniing j^nft and warm; 

And smiling through her dream, as tlnough 

a cloud [charm. 

The moon breaks, half trnveil'd each further 

As, slightly stirring in lier snowy slu-oud. 
Her beauties seized the unconscious hour of 

night 
4JI1 Vaabfullv to stiuuKlt^ into lighv 



This is no bidl, although it sounds so; tot 
'T was night, but there were lamps, as hatji 

been said. 
A third's all pallid aspect offer'd more 

The traits of sleeping sorrow, and betray'd 
Through the heaved breast the dream of soma 
far shore 
Beloved and deplored ; while slowly stray 'd 
(As night-dew, on a cypress glittering, tinges ' 
The black bough), tear-drops through her eyes' 
dark fringes 

LXVI 1 1. 

A fourth as marble, statue-like and still, 
Lay in a breathless, hush'd, and stony sleep 

While, cold, and pure, as looks a frozen rilJ, 
Or the snow minaret on an Alpine steep/ 

Or Lot's wife done in salt. — or what you will:— 
My similes are gathcr'd in a heap, 

So pick and choose — perhaps you '11 be contenr 

With a carved lady on a monument, 

LXIX. 

And lol a fifth appears; — and what is she? 

A lady of a " certain age," which means 
Certainly aged — what her years might be 

I know not, never counting past their teens; 
But there she slept, not quite so fair to see, 

As ere that awful period intervenes 
Which lays both men and women on the shelf. 
To meditate upon their sins and self. 

LXX. 

But all this time how slept, or dream'd, Dudu? 

With strict inquiry I coidd ne'er discover. 
And scorn to add a syllable untrue; . _.-, 

But ere the middle watch was hardly over , 
Just when the fading lamps waned dim and 
blue, [hover. 

And phantoms hover'd, or might seem to 
To those who like their company, abput 
The apartment, on a sudden she scream'd out : 

LXXI. 

And that so loudly, that upstarted all 
The Oda, in a general commotion; 

Matrtm and maids, and those whom you may 

call [ocean. 

Neither, came <'i.>wding like the waves ol 

One on the other, throughout the w hole hall. 
All trembling, wonderuig, without the leasl 
notion 

More than I have myself of what could make 

The calm Dudii so turbulcntly wake. 

LXX 1 1. 

But wide awake she was, and round her bed, 
With lioaling draperies and with llying hail". 

With eager eyes, and light but hurried tread, 
And bosoms, arms, and ankles glancing biire 



DON JUAN. 



407 



And brighr as any met jor ever bred 

By the North Pole, — they sought her cause 
of care. 
For she seem'd agitated, flush'd.and frighten'd, 
Her eye dilated iuid her colour heighlen'd. 

LXXIII. 

B'l*, what is stiange — aud a strong proof how 
great 

A blesbing js sound sleep — Juanna lay 
As fast as ever husband by His mate 

In holy malrimouy snores away. 
Not all tlie clamom- broke her happy state 

Of slumber, ere they shook her, — so they say 
A.I least, — aud then she, too, unclosed her eyes, 
Ajid yawu'd a good deal with discreet surprise. 

LXXIV. 

And now commenced a strict investigation, 

Which, as all spoke at once, aud more tHan 
once 
Conjectming, wondering, asking a narration, 

Alike might puzzle either wit or dunce 
To answer in a very clear oration. 

Dudii had never pass'd for wanting sense, 
But, being " no orator as Brutus is," 
Could not at first expound what was amiss. 

i.xxv. 
At length she said, that in a slumber sound 

She dream'd a dream, of walking in a wood — 
A "woodobscuie," like that where Dante found 

Himself in at the age when all grow good ; 
zjife's halfway house, where dames with virtue 
crown "d 

Run much less risk of lovers turning rivle ; 
Aud that this wood was full c)f pleasant fruits, 
And trees of goodly growth and tpi-eading roots ; 

LXXVI. 

And in the midst a golden apple grew, — 
A most prodigious pippiu — but it hung 

Rather too high and distant ; that she threw 
Her glances on it, and then, longing, flung 

Stones and whatever she could pick up, to 
Bring down the fruit, which still perversely 
clung 

To its own bough, and dangled yet in sight, 

But always ut a most provoking height; — 

LXXVII, 

That on a sudden, when she least had hope, 
It fell down of its own accord before 

Her feet; that her first movement was to stoop 
And pick it up, and bite it to the core, 

That just as her young lip began to ope 
Upon the goklen fruit the vision bore, 

A bee flew out, and stung her to the heart, 

Aiid so — she awoke wi'ii a gieat scieam and 
i.lart. 



LXXVIII. 

All this she told with some confusion and 
Dismay, me usual consequence of dreams 

Of the unpleasant kind, with none at hand 
To expound their vain and visionary tjleama, 

I've known some odd ones which seem 4 
really plann'd 
Pro{ heticaily, or that which one deems 

A " strange coincidence," to use a phras« 

By which such things aie settled now-adays'- 

LXXIX. 

The damsels, who had thoughts of some great 
harm. 

Began , as is the consequence of fear. 
To scold a little at the false alarm 

That broke for nothing on their sleeping ear. 
The matron, too, was wroth to leave her warm 

Bed for the dream she had been obliged to 
hear. 
And chafed at poor Dudd, who only sigh'd. 
And said, that she was sony she had cried 

I.XXX. 

" I've heard of stories of a cock and bull ; 

But vi^i(tns of an apple and a bee. 
To take us from our natural rest, and pull 

The %\ hole Oda from their beds at half-past 
three, 
Would make us tliink the moon is at its full. 

You surely are unwell, child ! we must see. 
To-mon-ow, what his Highness's physician 
Will say to this hysteric of a vision. 

LXXXI. 

" And poor Juanna, too, the child's first night 
Withni these walls, to be broke in upon 

With such a clamour — I had thought it right 
That the young stranger ijjould not lie alone, 

And, as the quietest of all, she might 

With you, Dudu, a good night's rest hav« 
known ; 

But now I must transfer her to the charge 

Of Lolah — though her couch is not so large." 

LXXXII. 

Lolah's eyes sparkled at the proposition ; 

But poor Dudu, wiih large drops in her own. 
Resulting from the scolding or the vision. 

Implored that jfl-esent pardon m -ght be show n 
For this fust fault, and that on no condition 

(She added in a soft and piteous tone) 
Juanna should be taken in m hei", and 
Her future dreap^s should all be kept in hand 

I.XXXIII- 

She promised never more to have a dream, . 

At least to dream so loudly as just now; 
She wcnder'd at herself how she could scream— 

"Twas fooUsh, nervous, as she must allow 



408 



DON JUAN. 



4. fond 1 allucination, and a tbeme 

For laughter— but she felt her spirits low. 
And bcgg'd they would excuse her ; she 'd get 

over 
This weakness in a few hours, and recover. 

LXXXIV. 

And here Juanna kindly interposed, 
And said she felt herself extremely well 

Where she then was, as her sound sleep dis- 
closed, 
When all around rang like a tocsin bell; 

She did not find herself the least disposed 
To quit her gentle partner, and to dwell 

Apart from one who had no sin to show, 

Save that of dreaming once "mal-a-propos. 

I.XXXV. 

As thus Juanna spcke, Dudd turn'd round 
And hid her face within Juanna's breast; 

Her neck alone was seen, but that was found 
The colour of a budding rose's crest. 

I can't tell why she blush'd, nor can expound 
The mystery of this rupture of their rest; 

All that I know is, that the facts I state 

Are true as truth has ever been of late. 

LXXXVI. 

And so good night to them, — or, if you wall, 
Good mon-ow — for the cock had crown, and 
light 

Began to clothe each Asiatic hill. 

And the mosque crescent struggled into sight 

Of the long caravan, which in the chill 
Of dewy dawn wound slowly lound each 
height, 

That stretches to the stony belt, which girds 

Asia, where Kaff looks down upon the Kurds. 

LXXXVII. 

With the first ray, or rather grey of morn, 
Gulbeya/ rose' from restlessness; and pale 

As Passion rises, with its bosom worn, 

Array'd herself with mantle, gem, and veil. 

The nightingale that sings with the dct p thorn, 
W'hich fable places in her breast of wail, 

Is lighter far of heait and voice than those 

Whose headlong passions form their proper 
woes. 

I.XXXVIII. 

And that's the moral o! this composition, 
If people would but see its real drift; — 

But that ihey will not do without suspii'ion, 
Because all gentle readers have the gift 

Of closing 'gainst the light their orbs of vision; 
While gentle writers also love to lift 

Their voices 'gainsteach other, whichisnatirral, 

The numbers are too great for them to flatter all. 



Lxxxrx. 

Rose the sultana from a bed of splendour. 
Softer than the soft Sybarite's, who cried 

Aloud because his i'eelings we s too tender -, 
To brook a ruffled rose-leaf by his side.— •' ' 

So beautiful that ait could little mend bei", 
Thuugh pale wiih conflicts between lovt T 
and pride ; — 

So agitated was she with h r error, 

She did not even look into ihe mirror. 



Also arose about the self-same time, 
Perhajjs a little later, her great lord, 

Master of thirty kingdoms sc sublime. 

And of a wife by whom he was abhorr'd ; 

A thing of much less import in that clime — 
A,t least to those of incomes which aiibrd 

The filling up their whole connubial cargo — 

Thau where two wives are under an embargo 

xci. 
He did not think much on the mattej, nor 

Indeed on any other : as a m.an 
He liked to have a handsome paramour 

At hand, as one may like to have a fan, 
And therefore of Circassians had good store, 

As an amusement after the Divan ; 
Though an unusual fit of love, or duty, 
Had made him lately bask in his bride's, beauiy; 

XCII. 

And now he rose; and after due ablutions 
Exacted by the customs of tlie East, 

And prayers and other pious evolutions, 

He drank six cups of c( ti'ee at the least, (j 

Anil then w ithdrew to hear about the Russians. < 
Whose victories had recently increased 

In Catherine's reign, whom glory still adores, 

As greatest of all sovereigns and w s. 

XCIII. 

But oh, thou g:-and legitimate Alexander ! 

Her sou's sen, let i.ot this last phrase oflenfi 
Thine ear, if it should reach — and now rhymes 
wander 

Almost as far as Petersburgh, and lend 
A dreadful impulse to each loud meander 

Of uiurmunng Liberty's wide waves, wm(>. 
blend 
Their roar even with the Baltic's — so you I* 
Your father's son, 'tis quite enough for me. 

XCIY. 

To call men love-begotten, or proclaim 
Their mothers as the antipodes of Timon, 

That hater of mankind, woidd be a shame. 
A libel, or whate'er you please to rhyvae on 



DON JUAN. 



40ff 



But people's ancestors 'kre history's game ; 

And if one lady's slip could leave a crime on 
AH generations, 1 should like to know 
What pedigree the best would have to show? 

xcv. 
Had Catherine and the sultan understood 
Their o\\ n true interests, which kings rai'ely 
know, 
*Tntil 'tis taught by lessons rather rude. 

There was a way to end their strife, although 
\ rhaps precarious, had they but thought 
good, 
Without the aid of prince or plenipo : 
She to dismiss her guards and he his harem, 
And i'or their other matters, meet and share 
'em. 

:4cvi. 
But as it was, his Highness had to hold 

His daily council upon ways and means 
How to encounter with this martial scold, 

This modern Amazon and queen of queans ; 
And the perpl^ity could not be told 

Of all the pillars of the state, which leans 
Sometimes a little heavy on the backs 
Of those who cannot lay on a new tax. 

xcvii. 
Meantime Gulbeyaz, when her king was gone, 

Retired into her boudt>ir, a sweet place 
For love or breakfast; private, pleasing, lone. 

And rich with all contrivances which grace 
Ihusegay recesses: — many a precious stone 

Sparkled along its roof, and many a vase 
Of porcelain held in the fetter'd flowers, 
Those captive soothers of a captive's hours. 

xcyiii. 
Mother of pearl, and porphyry, and marble, 

Viod with each other on this costly spot ; 
Anrl singing birds without were beard to 
warble; [gi'ot 

Arvd the stain'd glass which lighted this fair 
Varied each ray ; — but all descriptions garble 

The true effect, and so we had better not 
Be loo minute ; an outline is the best, — 
\. lively reader's fancy does the rest. 

XCIX. 
And here she summon'd Baba, and required 

Don Juan at his hands, and information 
Of what had pass'd since all the slaves retired. 

And whether he had occupied their station; 
If matters had Deen managed as desired, 

And his disguise with due consideration 
Kept up; and above all, the where and how 
He had pass'd the night, was what she wish'd 
to know. 



Baba, with some embarrassment, replittl 
To this long catechism of questions, ask d 

More easily than answt-r'd, — that he had tried 
His best to obey in what he had been task'd ; 

But there seem'd something that he wish'd to 
hide. 
Which hesitation morebetray'd t>ianmask'd>- 

He scratch'd his ear, the infallible resource 

To which embaiTass'd people have recou sa 

CI. 

Gulbeyaz was no model of true patience, 
Nor much disposed to wait in word ol 
deed ; 
She liked quick answers in all conversations, 
And when she saw him stumbling like a 
steed 
In his replies, she puzzled him for fiesh ones; 
And as his speech grew still more broken- 
kneed. 
Her cheek began to flush, her eyes to sparkle. 
And her proud brow's blue veins to swell and 
daa-kle. 



When Baba saw these symptoms, which he 
knew 

To bode him no great good, he deprecated 

Her anger, and beseech'd she'd hear him 

through — [lated: 

He could not help the thing which he re- 
Then out it came at length, that to Dudn 

Juan was given in chaige, as hath been 
*»»H*tai stated ; 

But not by Baba's fault, he said, and swore on 
The holy camel's hump, besides the Koran. 

cm 
The chief dame of the Oda, upon whom 

The discipline of the whole harem bore, 
\s soon as they re-enter'd their own room. 

For Baba's function stopt short atthedoo' 
Had settled all ; nor could he then presume 

(The aforesaid Baba) just then to do more, 
Without exciting such suspicion as 
Might make the matter still worse than it was. 



He hoped, indeed he thought, he could besuro 
Juan had not betray'd himself ; in fact 

'T was certain that his conduct had i>een puic, 
Because a foolish or imprudent act 

Would not alone have made him insecure 
But ended in hisbeingfound outandgacJL'd, 

And thrown into the sea. — Thus Baba spoke 

Of all save Dudu's dream, which was n»iok<» 



410 



DON JUAN. 



This he discreetly kept iu the hack giound, . 
And talk'd away— and might liave talk'd 
till iKnv, 
For any further ans'.ver that he found. 

So deep an an-^uish wruiii,' (iulbeyaz' brow: 
Her cheek turn'd ashes, ears rung, brain 
whirl'd round, 
As if she had i-eccived u sudden blow, 
And the heart's dew of pam sprang fast and 

chill/ 
O'er her fair front, like Morning's on a lily. 

cvr. 
Although she was not of the fainting sort, 
Baba thought she would faint, but there he 
en-'d — 
It was bnt a convulsion, which though short 
Can never be described ; we all have heard, 
And some of ns have felt thus " all amort" 
When things beyond the common have 
occun-'d ; — 
Gulbeyaz proved in that brief agony 
What she could ne'er express — then how 
should I ? 

CVII. 

She stood a moment as a Pythoness 

Stands on her tripod, agonised, and full 

Of inspiration gather'd from distress, [pull 
When all the heart-strings like wild horses 

The heart asunder; — then, as more or less 
Their .speed abated or their strength grew 
dull, 

She sunk down on her seat by slow degrees, 

And bow'd her throbbing head o'er trembling 
knees. 

CVIII. 

Her f»ce declined and was unseen ; her hair 
Fell in long tresses like the weeping willow. 

Sweeping the marble underneath her chair, 
Or rather sofa, (for it was all pillow, 

A low, soft ottoman,) and black despair 

Stirr'd up and down her-^bosom like a billow, 

Which rushes to some shore whose shingles 
check 

its farther course, but must receive its wreck. 

cix. 

Her head hung down, and her long hair in 
stooping 

Conceal'd her features better than a veil ; 
And one hand o'er the ottoman lay drooping. 

White, waxen, and as alabaster pale : 
Would that I were a })ainter! to be grouping 

All that a poet drags into detail ! 
Oh that my words wei-e colours ! but theirtints 
Mav servs perhaps as outlines or slight hints. 



Baba, who knew by experience when lo tdk 
And when to hold his tongue, now held Jt' 

till 
This j;assinn might blow o'er, nor dared to balk 

Gulbeyaz taciturn or speaking will. 
At length she rose up, and began to walk 

Slowly along the room, but silent still, 
And her brow clear'd, but not her troubled eyej 
The wind was down, but still the searan high, 

CXI. 

She stopp'd, and raised her head to speak — 

but paused, 

And then moved on again with rapid pace; 

Then slacken'd it, which is the march most 

caused " [trace 

By deep emotion : — you may sometimes 

A feeling in each footstep* as disclosed 

By Salhist in his Catiline, who, chased 
By all the demons of all passions, shov/d 
Their work even by the way in which he' 
trode. 



Gulbeyaz stopp'd and beckon'd Baba: — 
"Slave' 
Bring the two slaves !"she said in alow tone 
But one which Baba did not like to brave, 
And yet he shudder'd, and seem'd ratha 
prone 
To prove reluctant, and begg'd leave to cravt 
(Though he well knew the meaning) to bt 
shown 
What slaves her highness wish'd to indicate, 
For fear of any error, like the laie. 

cxiri. 
" The Georgian and her paramour," replied 
The imperial bride — and added, " Lettht 
boat 
Be ready by the secret portal's side . 

You know the rest." The words stuck in 
her throat, 
Despite her injured love and fiery pride ; 
And of this Baba willingly took note, 
And begg'd by every hair of Mahomet's beard 
She would revoke the order he had heard. 

cxiv. 
" To hear is to obey," he said; " but stillj 

Sultana, think upon the consequence : 
It is not that I shall not all fulfil 

Your orders, even in their severest sense t 
But such precipitation may end ill. 

Even at your own imperative exijensej 
I do not mean destruction and exposure. 
In case y* any premature disclosore i 



DON JUAN. 



411 



I* Bat yoiir own feelings. Even should all 
the rest 
Be hidden by the rolling waves which hid 
A-lready many a once love-beaten breast 

-Deep in the caverns of the deadly tide— 
y^u love this boyish, new, seraglio guest, 

And if this violent remedy be tried — 
Excas.o my freedom, when I nere assure you, 
That killing him is not the way to cure you." 

cxvi. 
• What dost thou know ot love or feeling?— 
Wretch I [" and do 

Begone ! ' she cried, with kindling eyes— 
My bidding . ' Baba vanish'd, for to stretch 

His own remonstrance further he well knew 

Might end in acting as his own "Jack Ketch;" 

And though he wish'd extremely to get 

through 

This awkv/ard business without harm to others. 

He still prefen-'d his own neck to another's. 

cxvir. 
Away he went then upon his commission, 
Growling and grumbling in good Turkish 
phrase 
Against all women of whate'er condition, 

Especially sultanas and their ways ; 
Their obstinacy, pride, and indecision, 

Their never knowing their own mind two 
days, 
The trouble that they gave, their immorality, 
Which made him daily bless his own neutrality. 

CXVIII. 

And then he call'd his brethren to his aid. 

And sent one on a summons to the pair 
That they must instantly be well array'd. 

And above all be comb'd even to a hair, 
And brought before the empress, who had made 

Inquiries after them with kindest cnre : 
At which Dudii look'd strange, and Juan silly ; 

But go they must at once, and v/illl — nill I. 
cxix. 
And here I leave them at their preparation 

For the imperial presence, wherein whether 
G'.ilbeyaz show'd them both commiseration. 

Or got rid of the parties altogether. 
Like other angry ladies of her nation, — - 

Are things the turning of a hair or feather 
May settlt; ; but far oo "tfrom me to anticipate 
In what w.iy feminine caprice may dissipate. 

cxx. 
I leave them for the present with good wishes, 

Though doubts of th-iirwelldoinu;, to arrange 
Another part of history ; for the dishes 

Of this our banquet we must sometimes 
ehan'^e : 



And trusting Juan may escape the fishes, 

Although his situatioi now seems strange, 
And scarce secure, as such digressions are faii; 
The Muse will take a little touch at warfare. 



Bon 3Juan. 



CANTO THE SEVENTH* 



O liOTK? Glory ! what are ye who fly 

Around us ever, rarely to alight ? 
There's not a meteor in the polar sky 

Of such transcendent and more fleeting flig''- 1. 
Chill, and chain'd to cold earth, we lift on liii^li 

Our eyes in search of either lovely Hirlit : 
A thousand and a thousand colours they 
Assume, then leave us on our freezing way. 



And such as they are. such my present tale is 
A non-descript and ever-varying rhyme, 

A versified Aurora Borealis, 

Which flashes o'er a waste and icy clime. 

When we know what all are, we must bewail 
us. 
But ne'ertheless I hope it is no crime 

To laugh at ali things — for I wish to know 

What, after all, are all things — but a show f 



They accuse rae — Me — the present writer of 
The present poem — of— t know not what^ 

A tendency to under-rate and scoflT 

At human power and virtue, and all that ; 

And this they say in language rather rough. 
Good God ! I wonder what they would be at! 

T say no more than hath been said in Dante's 

Verse, and by Solomon and by Cervantes ; 



By Swift, by Machlavel, by Rochefoucault, 

"Bv Fenelon, by Luther, and by Plato; 
By Tillotson, and Wesley, and Rousseau, 

Who knew this life was not worth a potato 
*T is not their fault, nor mine, if this be so— • 

For my part. I pretend not to^be Cato, 
Nor even "Diogenes. — We live and die. 
But which is best, you know no more thtt) 1 



412 



DON JUAN. 



Socrates said, OHr only knowledge was 

" To know that, nothing could be known ; " 
a pleasant 

Science enough, whicl levels to an ass 
Each man of wisdom, future, past, orp.-esent. 

Newton (that proverb of the mind), alas I 
Declared, with all his grand discoveries 
recent. 

That he himself felt only " like a youth 

E'icliing up shells by the great ocean — Truth.** 

VI. 

Ecclesiastes said, " that all is ■sanity" — 
Most modern preachers say the same, or 
show it 

By their examples of true Christianity : 
In short., all know, or very soon may know it; 

And in this scene of sll-confess'd iiianity, 
By saint, by sage, by preacher, and by poet. 

Must I restrain me, through the fear of strife, 

From holding up the nothingness of life? 

VII, 

Dogs, or men I — for I flatter you in .saying 
That ye are dogs — your betters fur — ye may 

tterid, or read not, what I nm now essaying 
To siiow ye what yc are in every way. 

As little as the moon stops for the baying 
Of svolves, will the bright muse withdraw 
one ray 

From out her skies — then howl your idle wratlil 

While she still silvers o'er your gloomy path. 

VIII. 

*■ Fierce loves and faithless wars" — I am not 
sure 

If this be the right readmg — 'tis no matter; 
The f!:c» *s about the same, I am secure ; 

I sing them both, and am about to batter 
A town which did a famous siege endure, 

And was belcaguer'd both by land and water 
By So ivarolT, or Anglice Suwarrow, 
Who oyed blood as an alderman loves maiTow. 

IX. 

The fortress is call'd Ismail, and is placed 

Upon the Danube'K left branch and left bank, 
With buildings in the Oriental taste. 

But still a fortress of the foremost rank, 
Or was at least, unless 'tis since defaced, 
" Which with your conquerors is a common 

prank : 
It stands some eighty versts from the high sea, 
And measures round of toises thousand three. 

X. 

Within the extent of this fortification 

A borough.is comprised along the height 

Upon the left, which from i^s lot'tier station 
Commands the city, and upon its site 



A Greek had raised around this eleTatkin 

A quantity of palisades upright. 
So placed as to impede the fire of those ' .i!. 
Who held the place, and to assist the foeV 

XI. 

This circumstance may serve to give a notiou 
Of the high talents of this new Vauban • 

But the town ditch below was deep as cceaH; 
The rampart higher than you 'd .wish W 
hang 

But then there was a great want of precauli<j| 
(Prithee, excuse this engineering slang), 

Nor work advanced, nor covei d way was there. 

To hint at least " Here is no thoroughfare." 

XII. 

But a stone bastion, with a narrow gorge, 
And walls as thick as most skulls boni as yet ; 

Two batteries, cap-a-pie, as our St. George, 
< .'ase-mated08 one, and t' other " abarbette."8' 

Of Danube's bank took formidable cliarge; 
While two and twenty cannon duly set 

Rose overlhe town's right side, in bristling tier, 

Forty feet high, upon a cavalier. 

XIII. 

But from the river the town's open quite, 
Because the Turks could never be persuaded 

A Ri'ssian vessel e'er would heave in sight ; 
And such their creed was, till they were in 
vaded, 

When it grew rather late to set things right. 
But as the Danube could not well be waded 

They look'd upon the Muscovite flotilla, 

And only shouted, "Allah I " and "Bis Millah!" 

XIV. 

The Russians now were ready to attack ; 

But oh, ye goddesses of war and glory . 
How .shall I spell the name of each Cossacque 

Who were immortal, could one tell their 
story ? 
Alas I what to their memory can lack ? 

Achilles' self was not more grim and gorv 
Than thousands ofthis new and polish 'dnaiinn, 
Whose names want nothing but — j.r'iinin 
ciatiou. 

XV. 

Still I '11 record a few, if but to increase 
Olu- tuphonv : there was Strongenofl^, arxi 
St,rok(>Koir, 
Mcknop.Soigc Low. Arsniewofmodem Greece, 
And Tschitsshakoir, and Roguenoff, and 
Chokenofl", 
And others of twelve consonants apiece; 
And more might be found out, if I could pok« 
enough ' • 

Into gazettes; but Fame (capricious strnmpd?^ 
It seems has got an ear as wel as tramp«|» '^ 



DON JUAN. 



413 



And cannot tine those discords of narration, 
WTiich uipybenamesat Moscow.intorliyme; 

Yel there wrve several worth commemoration, 
As e'er was virgin of a nuptial chime ; 

Soft words, loo, tilted lor the peroration 
Of Londonderry drawling against time, 

Ending in " ischskin," " ousckia," "idskchy," 
" ouski," 

Of whom we can insert but Rousamouski, 

XVII. 

Schereraatoff, and Chrematoif, Koklophti, 
Koclobski, Kourakin, and Monskin Pouskin, 

All proper men of weapons, as e'er scoti'd high 
Against a foe, or ran a sabre through skin : 

Little cared they for Mahomet or Mufti, 
Unless to make their kettle-drums a new skin 

Out of their hides, if parchment had gi-owndear, 

And no more handy substitute been neai'. 

XVIII. 

Then there were foreigners of much renowm, 
Of various nations, and all volunteers ; 

Not fighting for their country or its crown, 
But wishing to be one day brigadiers: 

Also to have the sacking of a town ; 

A pleasant thing to young men at their years. 

'Mongst them were several Englishmen of pith, 

Sixteen call'd Thomson, and nineteen named 
Smith. 

XIX. 

Jack Thomson and Bill Thomson; — all the rest 
Hadbeen call'd ''Jemmy," after the great bard; 

I don't know whether they had arms or crest, 
But such a godfather's as good a card. 

Three of the Smiths were Peters; but the best 
Amongst them all, hard blows to inflict or 
ward, 

Was he, since so renown'd " in country quarters 

At Halifax;" but now he served the Tartars. 

XX. 

The rest were Jacks and Gills and Wills and 
Bills, [Smith 

BhI when I 've added that the elder Jack 
Was born in Cu.nberland among the hills. 

And that his father wa» an honest blacksmith, 
', pe said all / know of a name that fills 

'I'hree lines of the despatch in taking 
" Schmacksmith," 
A village of Moldavia's waste, wherein 
He fell, immortal in a bulletin. 

XXI. 

I wonder (although Mars no doubt 's a god I 
Praise) if a man's name in a bulletin 

May make up for a hulkt in his body ? 
I hope this little question is no s:ji, 



Because, though I am but a simple d )ddy, 
I think one Shakspeare puts the same thougbi 
in 
The mouth of some one in his plays sodotinij 
Which many people pass for wits by quoting 



Then there were Frenchmen, gallant, young 
and gay : 

But I m too great a patriot to record 
Their Gallic names upon a glorious day ; 

I 'd rather tell ten lies than say a word 
Of truth ; — sucli truths ai-e treason ; they betraj 

Their country ; and as traitors are abhorr'd 
Who name the French in English, save to show 
How Peace should make John Bull the French 
man's foe. 

XXIII. 

The Russians, having built two batteries on 
An isle near Ismail, had two ends in view 

The first was to bombard it, and knock down 
The public buildings and the private too, 

No matter what poor souls might be undone 
The city's shape suggested this, 'tis true ; 

Form'd like an amphitheatre, each dwelling 

Presented a fine mark to throw a shell ui. 

XXIV. 

The second object was to profit by 

The moment of the general con'-,t-jrr?dtion, 

To attack the Turks' flotilla, which \ty nigh 
Extremely tranquil, anchor d at its statioQ 

But a third motive was as probably 
To frighten them into capi.ulation ; 

A phantasy which someti;i:iCs seizes wairiors, 

Unless they are game a bull.dogs and fox 
tei-riers. 



A habit rather blameul^l j, which is 

That of despising diose we combat with, 

Common in many cases, was in this 

Thecause of killingTchitchitzkolf and Smith 

One of the valorous "Smiths" whom we shall 

miss ' ["pith;' 

Out of those nineteen who late rhymed to 

But 'tis a name so spread o'er "Sir" and 
"Madam," ["Adam." 

That one would think the first who bore it 



The Russian batteries were incomplete. 

Because they were constructed in a huriy , 

Thus the same cause which makes a vers« 

want feet, [Miina)., 

And throws a cloud o'er Longmao and Jolw 



414 



DON JUAN. 



When the sale of new books is not so fleet 

As they who print them think is necessary, 
May I'kewise put off .or a time what story 
Sometimes calls " mm"der," and at others 
" glory." 

XXVII. 

Whether it was their engineer's stupidity, 
Theirhaste or waste, I neither know nor care, 

Or some contractor's personal cupidity, 
Saving his soul by cheating in the ware 

Of homicide, but there was no solidity 
In the new batteries erected there ; 

Tnty either miss'd, or they were never miss'd, 

And added gi'eatly to the missing list. 

XXVIII. 

A sad miscalculation about distance 
Made all their naval matter* incorrect ; 

Three fireships lost their amiable existence 
Before they reach'd a spot to take effect: 

The match was lit too soon, and no assistance 
Could remedy this lubberly defect ; 

They blew up in the middle of the river, 

While, though 't was dawn, the Turks slept 
fast as ever. 

XXIX. 

At seven they rose, however, and survey *d 
The Russ flotilla getting under way ; 

T was nine, when still advancing undismay'd. 
Within a cable's length their vessels lay 

Off Ismail, and commenced a cannonade. 
Which was return'd with interest, I may say, 

And by a fire of musketry and grape. 

And shells antl shot of every size and shape. 

XXX. 

For six hours bore they without intermission 
The Turkish lire, and, aided by their own 

Land batteries, work'd their guns with great 
precision : 
At length they found mere cannonade alone 

By no means would produce the town's sub- 
mission, 
And made a signal to retreat at one. 

One Dsnk blew up, a sec6nd near the works 

Running agi-ound, was taken by the Turks. 

XXXI. 

The Moslem, too, had lost both ships and men ; 

But when they saw the enemy retire. 
Their Delhisi'W mann'd some boats, and sail'd 
again. 

And gall'd the Russians with a heavy fire, 
And tried to make a landing on the main ; 

But here the effect fell short of their desire: 
Cwint Damas drove them back into the water 
Pell-mell and with awhole gazette of slaughter. 



" If" (says the historian here) "I could repaid 
All that the Russians did upon thi^ dav, • ■ 

I think that several volumes would fall shor^ 
And I should still have many things lo say ; " 

And so he says no more — but pays his court 
To some distingrttstf d strangers in that fraj^ 

ThePriitffedeLigne.and Langeron,andDamas, 

Names great as any tliat the roll of Fame has. 

XXXIII. 

This being tit cejue aiay show us what Fams 
is: [how 

For out of these three "preux Chevaliers,' 
Many of common readers give a guess 

That such existed? (and they may live now 
For aught we know.) Renown 's all liit or miss; 

There 's fortune even in fame, we must allow, 
'Tis u-ue, the Memoirs of the Prince de Ligne 
Have half withdrawn from him oblivion's 
screen. 

XXXIV. 

But here are men who fought in gallantactions 
As gallantly as ever heroes fought, 

But buried in the heap of such transactions 
Their names are rarely found, nm- often 
sought. [tioiii^ 

Thus even good fame may suffer sad contrac- 
And is extinguish'd sooner than she ought: 

Of all our modem battles, I will bet 

You can't repeat nine names from each Ga- 
zette. 

XXXV. 

In short, this last attack, though rich in glory, 
Show'd that somewhere, somehow, there was 
a fault. 

And Admiral Ribas (known in Russian story) 
Most strongly recommended an assault ; 

In which he was opposed by young and ho;iry, 
Which made a long debate; but I must halt. 

For if I wrote down every warrior's speech, 

I doubt few readers ecr w^uld mount t?>e 
breach, 

XXXVI. 

There was a man, if that he was a man. 

Not that his manhood could be call'd ia 
question. 
For had he not been Hercules, his span 

Had been as short in youth as indigestion 
Made his last illness, when, all worn and wan, 

He died beneath a tree, as much unblest on 
The scul of the green province he had wasted. 
As e'e was locust on the land It blasted. 



DON JUAN. 



415 



xxxvir. 
Fhis was Potemkiii — a great thing in days 

When nomicide and harlotry made gi-eat; 
If sUirs and titles could entail long praise, 

His glory might hall' equal his estate. 
This fellow, being six foot high, could raise 

A kind of phantasy proportionate 
In the then sovereign of the Russian people, 
Wlio measured men as you would do a steeple. 

XXXVIII. 

While things were in abeyance, Ribas sent 
A courier to the prince, and he succeeded 

Fn ordering matters after bis own bent; 
I cannot tell the way in which he pleaded, 

B " shortly he had cause to be content. 
In tfcc "Bean time, the batteries proceeded. 

And fourscore cannon on the Danube's border 

Were briskly fired and answer'd in due order. 

XXXIX. 

But on the thirteenth, when already part 
Of the troops were embark'd, the siege to 
raise, 

A courier on the spur inspired new heart 
Into all panters for newspaper praise, 

As well as dilettanti in war's art. 

By his despatches couch'd in pithy phrase; 

Announcing the appointment of that lover of 

Battles to the command, Field-Marshal Souva- 

.- XL. 

The letter of the prince to the same marshal 

Was worthy of a Spjirtan, had the cause 
Been one to which a good heart could be 
partial — 
Defence of fieedom, country, or of laws, 
But as it was mere lust of power to o'er-arch all 
With itsproudbrow,itmeritsslightapplause, 
Save for its style, which said, all in a trice, 
;*' You will take Ismail at whatever price." 

XLI. 

■^^liet there be light ! said God, and there was 
.^■- light 1" [a sea! 

" Let there be blood !" says man, and there 's 
^ ie fiat of this spoil'd child of the Night 

(For Day ne'er saw his merits) could decree 
3lorc evil in an hour, than thirty bright [be 
Sunnners could renovate, though they should 
Lovely as those which ripen'd Eden's Iruit; 
For war cuts up not only branch, but root. 

XMI. 

jOut friends the Turks, who with loud " Allahs" 
now 

Began to signalise the Russ retreat, 
Were damnably mistaken; few are slow 

In thinking that their nxemj is beat, 



«*-' 



(Or beaten, if you insist tn grammar, though 

I never think about it in a heat,) ■-• 

But here I say the Turks were much mistaken, 
Who hating hogs, yet wish'd to save their bacon 

xmi. 
For, on the sixteenth, at full gallop, drew 

lu sight two horsemen, who were deem'i 
Cossacques 
For some time, till they came in nearer view. 

They had but little baggage at their backs, 
For there were but three shirts between the two; 

But on they rode upon two Ukraine hacks. 
Till, in approaching, were at length descried 
In this plain pair, Suwarrow and his guide. 

XLIV. 

" Great joy to London now!" says some great 
fool, 

'V\Taen London had a grand illumination, 
Which to that bottle-conjuror, John Bull, 

Is of all dreams the lirst huUucination; 
So that the streets of colour 'd lamps are full, 

That Sage {said John) surrenders at discre- 
tion [nonsense, 
His purse, his soul, his sense, and even his 
To gratify, like a huge moth^ tliis ojie sense. 

XLV. 

T is strange that he should farther " damn his 
eyes," [oath 

For they are damn'd ; that once all -famous 
Is to the devil now no farther prize. 

Since John has lately lost the use of both. 
Debt he calls wealth, and taxes Paradise ; 

And Famine,with her gamit and bony growth, 
Which stare him in the face, he won't examine, 
Or swears that Ceres hath hegottcu Famiiie. 

XLVI. 

But to the tale; — great joy unto the camp . 

To Russian, Tartar, English, French, Cos 
sacque, 
O'er whom Suwarrow shone like a gas lamp, 

Presaging a most luminous attack ; 
Or like a wisp along the marsh so damp, 

Which leads b.holders on a boggv Wcdk 
He tiitted to and fro a dancing light, 
Wliich all who saw it follow'd, wrong oi- righi 

XLVII 

But certes matters took a different f<icc. 

There was enthusiasm and much apphuis« 
The fleet and camp saluted with great grace 

And all presaged good fortune to their causa 
Within a cannon-shot length of the place 

They drew, constructed ladders, repair'd 
flaws 
In former works, made new. prepared fascine* 
And all kinds of benevolent inachioea. 



416 



DON JUAN. 



XLVIII. 

Tis thus the spirit of a single mind 

Makes that of multitudes take one direction, 

As roll the waters to the breathing wind, 
Or roams the herd beneath the bull's pro- 
tection ; 

Oi as a little dog •wall lead the blind, 

Or a bell-wether form the flock's connection 

By tinkling sounds, when they go forth to 
victual; 

Such is the sway of your great men o'er little. 

XLIX. 

The whole camp rung with joy ; you would 
have thought 

That they were going to a man-iage feast 
(This metaphor, I think holds good as aught, 

Since there is discord after both at least) . 
There was not now a l;iggage boy but sought 

Danger and spoil with ardour much in- 
creased ; 
And why 'i because a little — odd — old man, 
Stript 10 his shirt, was come to lead the van. 

But so it was; and every preparation 

Was made with all alacrity : the first 
Detachnieut of three columus took its station, 

And waited but the signal's voice to burst 
Upon the foe: the second's ordination 

Was also in three columns, \\\\h a thirst 
Foi gijorv gaping o'er a sea of slaughter: 
The third, in columns two, attack'd by water, 

1,1. 
New batteries were erected, and was held 

A general council, in which unanimity. 
That stranger to most councils, here prevail'd, 

As sometimes happens in a great extremity; 
And every difficulty being dispeii'd. 

Glory began to dawn with due sublimity. 
While Souvarofi, determined to obtain it, 
Was teaching his recruits to use the bayonet. ^01 

LII. 

It is an actual fact, that he, commander 
In chief, in proper person deign'd to drill 

The awkward squad, and could afford to 
squander 
His time, a corporal's duty to fidfii; 

Just as you'd break a sucking sal;;m;mder 
To swallow flame, and never take it ill: 

He show'd them how to mount a ladder (which 

Was not like Jacob's) or to cross a ditch. 

MM. 

Also he dress'd up, for the nonce, fa'-cincs 
^ike men with turbans, scimitars, and dirks, 

\nd miide them charge with bayonet these 
liiactiines. 
By way o' I&s&od ogiiias/. actual Turks, 



And when well practised in thet; mimic scene* 

He judged them proper to assail the works, 

At which your wise men sneer'd in phrase* 

witty : 
He made no answer; but he took the city. 

LIV. 

Most things were in this posture on the eve 

Of the assault, and all the camp was in • 
A stern repose ; which you would scarce con- 
ceive; [and tliia 

Yet men resolved to dash through thick 
Are very silent when they cnce believe 

That all is settled: — there was little din. 
For some were thinking of their home an<t 

friends. 
And others of themselves and latter ends. 

i,v. 
Suwarrow chiefly was on the alert, fdering; 

Surveying, drilling, ordering, jesting, pon- 
For the man was, we safely may assert, [nig; 

A thing to wonder at beyond most wonder- 
Hero, bnlFton, half-demon, and half-dirt. 

Praying, instructing, desolating, plundering; 
Now Mars, now Moraus; and when bent tc 

storm 
A fortress. Harlequin in uniform. 

LVI. 

The day before the assault, while upon drill— 
For this great conqueror play 'd the coq;)oral — 

Some Cossacques, hovering like hawks round 
a hill. 
Had met a party towards the twilight's fall, 

One of whom spoke their tongue — or well or ill, 
"T was much that he was understood at all, 

But whether from his voice, or speech, oi 
manner, [banner 

They found that he had fought beneath theii 

LVII. 

Whereon immediately at his request 

They brought him and his comrades to head- 
quarters ; [guess' i 
fheir dress were Moslem, but you might hav« 
That these were merely masquerading Tai, 
tars, 
And that beneath each Turkisli-fashion'd ve»< 
Lurk'd Christianity ; which sometimes bar- 
ters 
Her inward grace for outward show, and raak«« 
It difficult to shun some strange mistakes. 

Lvin. 
Suwan'ow, who was standing in his shirt 

Before a company of Calmucks, drilling. 
Exclaiming, fooling, .swearing at the inert. 

And iectiuiny; on the noble art of killing,—" 



DON JUAN. 



417 



For deeming human clay but common dirt. 

This great philosopher was thus instilling 
His maxims, which to martial comprehensibn 
Pi-oved death in battle equal to a pension ; — 

MX. 

Suwarrow, when he saw this company 

Of Cossacques and their prey, turn'd round 
and cast 
Upon ihem his slow brov and piercing eye: — 
'* Wht;nce come ye?' — "From Constanti- 
nople last, 
Captives just now escaped," was the reply. 
"What ai'e ye?" — " Wliat you see us." 
Briefly pass'd 
This dialogue; for he who answer'd knew 
To whom he spoke, and made his words but few. 

LX. 

" Your names?" — " Mine's Johnson, and my 
comrade's Juan; 
The other two are women, and the third 
Is neither man nor woman." The chief threw 
on [heard 

The party a slight glance, then said, " I have 
Four name before, the second is a new one: 
To bring the other three here was absui'd: 
But let that pass: — I think I have heard your 

name 
In the Nikolaiew regiment?" — " The same." 

LXI. 

" You served at Widdin ?" — " Yes." — " You 
led the attack ?" [know." 

" I did." — " What next?" — " I really hardly 
" You were the first i'the breach?" — " I was 
not slack 
At least to follow those who might be so." 
" What follow'd?" — " A shot laid me on my 
back, 
And I became a prisoner to the foe." 
" You .shall have vengeance, for the town 
i surrounded [wounded. 

ffia tv.'ice as strong as that where you were 

LXtl. 

' Where will you serve?" — " Where'er you 
please." — " I know 
You like to be the hope of the forlorn. 
And doubtles.s would be foremost on the foe 
After the hard^hips you've already borne. 
And this young fellow — say what can he do ? 
He with the beardless chin and garments 
torn?'" 
" "Vy ny, general, if he hath no greater faidt 
In war than love, he had better lead the 
assault.' 

28 



Lxiir, 

" He shall if that he dare." Here Juan bow'fl 
Low as the lompliment deserved. Su 
warrow 

)ntinued: " Yo ir old regiment's allow'd, 
By special providence, to lead to-morrow, 

Oi it may be to-night, the assault: I hav« 

vow'd [harrow 

To several saints, that shortly plough oi 

Shall pass o'er what was Ismail, and its tusi* 

Be unimpeded by the proudest mosque. 

LXIV. 

" So now, my lads, for glory I" — Here hr 
turn'd 
And drill'd a way in the most classic Russian, 
Until each high, heroic bosom bum'd 

For cash and conquest, as if from a cushion 
A preacher had held forth (who nobly spurn 'd 
All earthly goods save tithes) and bade 
them push on 
To slay the Pagans who resisted, battering 
The armies of the Christian Empress Catfc* 
riue 



Johnson, who knew by this long colloquy 
Himself a favourite, ventured to address 

Suwarrow, though engaged with accents high 
In his resumed amusement. " I confess 

My debt in being thus allow'd to die 

Among the foremost ; but if you 'd express 

Explicitly our several posts, my friend 

And self would know what duty to attend." 

LXVI. 

" Right! I was busy, and forgot. Why, you 
Will join yoiu- former regiment, which 
should be 

Now under arms. Ho ! Katskoff, take him to — 
(Here he call'd up a Polish orderly) 

His post, I mean the regiment Nikolaiew : 
The stranger stripling may remain with me ; 

He's a fine boy. The women may be sent. 

To the other baggage, or to the sick tent." 

LXVII. 

But here a sort of scene began to ensue : 
The ladies, — who by no means had bctn 
bred 

To be disposed of in a way so new. 
Although their h;u-em education led 

Doubtless to that of doctrines the mositrue, 
Passive obedience, — nowraised up the head, 

With flashing eyes and starting tears, and 
flung L.voung, 

Th&ir arms, as hens their wings abtiut 



418 



DON JUAN. 



LXVUI. 

O'er 4he promoted couple of li>ra\ ? men. 

Who wore thus honoiir'd by the gieatest 
chief 
That ever peopled hell with heroes slain, 

Or plunged a province or a realm in giief. 
Oh, foolish mortals ! Always taught in vain ! 

Oh, glorious lam-el! since for one sole leaf 
Of thine imaginary deathless tree, [sea. 

Of blood and tears nnist How the unebbing 

LXIX. 

Suwarrow, who had small regard for tears, 
And not much sympathy for blood, survey 'd 

The women with their hair about their ears 
And natural agonies, with a slight shade 

Of feeling : for however habit sears 

Men's hearts against whole millions, when 
their trade 

Is butchery, sometimes a single sorrow 

Will touch even heroes — and such was Su- 
warrow. 



He said, — and in the Ivindest Calmuck tone, — 
" Why, Johnson, what the devil do you 
mean 
By bringing women here? They shall be 
shown 
All the attention possible, and seen 
In safety to the waggons, where alone 

In fact they can be safe. You should 
have been 
Aware this kind of baggage never thrives: 
Save wed a year, I bate recruits with wives." 

I.XXI. 

" May It. pJeas* yci.r excellency," thus re- 
p.ied [of others, 

Our British friend, " these are the v-'ves 
Ana not our own. I am too qualifie-:! 

By service with my military brothers 
To traak the rules by bringing one's own 
bride 

Into a camp : 1 know that nought so bothers 
The hearts of the heroic on a charge, 
As leaving a small family at large. 

LXXII 

" But th( se are but two Turkish ladies, who 
With their attendant aided our escape., 

And afterwards accompanied us through 
A thou-sand perils in this dubious shape. 

To me this kind of life is not so new ; 
To them, poor things it is an awkward 
scrape. 

I therefore, if you wish me to fight freely^ 

Request that they may both be used geatee^," 



LXXIII. 

Meantime these twi poor girls, with 8>rim 
ming eyes, 

Look'd on as if in doubt il they could trust 
Their own protectors; nor was their sm-prise 

Less than their grief (and ti'uly not less 
just) 
To see an old man, rather wild than wise 

In tispect, plainly clad, be.smeai"'d with dust, 
Stript to his waistcoat, and that not too clean, 
More fear'd than all the sultans ever seen. 

Lxxiy. 

For every thing seem'd resting on his nod, 
As they could read in ail eyes. Now U> 
them. 

Who were accustom'd, as a sort of god, 
To see the sultan, rich in many a gem, 

Like an imperial peacock stalk abroad 
(That royal bird, whose tail's a diadem,) 

With all the pomp of power, it was a doubt 

How power could condescend to do without. 



John Johnson, seeing their extreme dismay, 
Though little versed in feelings- oriental. 

Suggested some slight comfort in his way : 
Don Juan, who was much more senti- 
mental, [day. 

Swore they should sec him by the dawn of 
Or that the Russian army should repent all : 

And, strange to say, they found some conso- 
lalion 

In this — for females like exaggeration. 

LXXVI. 

And then with tears, and sighs, and some 
slight kisses. 

They parted for the present — these to await, 
A-^or.liug to the artillery's hits or misses. 

What sages call Chance, Provid«=-nce, oi 
Fate — 
(Uncertainty is one of many blisses, 

A mortgage on Humanity's estate) — 
While iheir beloved friends began lo arm, 
To burn a town which never did them harm 

LXXVII. 

Suwan-ow,— who but saw things in the gross, 
Being much too gross to see them in detiuJ 

Who calculated life as so much dross, 
And as the wind a widow'd nation's wail, 

And cared as little for his army's loss [v'ail) 
(So that tlit'ir elforts should at Icngiii pre 

As wife and ft iends did for the boils of Job,—* 

What wast I him to hear two wuowinsob^ 



DON JUAN. 



419 



LXXVIII. 

Nothing. — The work of gloiy still went on 
In preparations for a cannonade 

As terrible as that of Ilion, 

If Homer had found mortars ready made ; 

But now, instead of slaying Priam's son, 
Wti only can but talk of escalade, 

Bombj, drums, guns, bastitms, batteries, 
bayonets, bullets ; [gidlets. 

Hard words, which stick iu the soft Muses' 

LXXIX. 

Oh, thou eternal Homer! who couldst charm 
AH ears, though long ; ail ages, though so 
short. 

By merely wielding with poetic arm 
Anns to which men will never more resort, 

Unless gunpowder should be found to harm 
Much less than is the hope of every court, 

Which now is leagued j-oung Freedom to 
aiinoy ; 

But they will not find Liberty a Troy : — 

LXXX. 

Oh, thou eternal Homer! I have now 

To paint a siege, wherein more men were 
slain, 

With deadlier engines and a speedier blow. 
Than in thy Greek gazette of thatcampaign ; 

And yet, like all men else, I must allow. 
To vie with thee would be about as vain 

As for a brook to cope with ocean's flood ; 

But still we moderns equal you in blood ; 

LXXXI. 

If not in postry, at least in fact ; 

And fact is truth, the grand desideratum ! 
Of which, howe'er the Muse describes each 
act, [stratum. 

There should be ne'ertheless a slight sub- 
But now the town is going to be attack'd ; 

Great deeds are doing — how shall I relate 
'em? 
Souls of immortal generals ! Phoebus watches 
To colour up his rays from your despatches. 

Lxxxn. 

Oh, ye gi'eat bulletins of Bonaparte! 

Oh, ye less grand long lists of kill'd and 
wounded ! 
Shade of Leonidas, who fought so hearty. 

When my poor Greece was once, as now, 
surrounded ! 
Oh, Caesar's Commentaries ! now impart, ye 

Shadows of glory! (lest I be confounded) 
A portion of your fading twilight hues. 
So beautiful, so fleeting, to the Muse. 



LXXXIIl. 

When I call " fading " martial immortality, 
I mean, that every age and every year, 

And almost every day, in sad realitj 
Some sucking hero is conipell'd to rear. 

Who, when we come to sum up the totality 
Of deeds to human happiness most dear, 

Turns out to be a butcher in great business, 

Afliicting young folks with a sort of dizziaesi 

LXXXIV. 

Medals, rank, ribands, lace, embroidery, scarlet, 
Are things immortal to immortal man. 

As purple to the Babylonian harlot: 
An uniform to boys is like a fan 

To women ; there is scarce a crimson varlet 
But deems himself the first iu Glory's vaa. 

But Glory's glory; and if you would hud 

What that is — ask the pig who sees the wind ! 

LXXXV. 

At least he feels it, and some say he sees, 
Because he runs before it like a pig ; 

Or, if that simple sentence should displease, 
Say, that he scuds before it like a brig, 

A schooner, or — but it is time to ease 

This Canto, ere my Muse perceives fatigue 

The next sh;dl ring a peal to shake all people. 

Like a bob-major from a village steeple. 

LXXLVI. 

Hark ! through the silence of the cold, dull 
night. 

The hum of armies gathering rank on rank! 
Lo! dusky masses steal in dubious sight 

Along the leaguer'd wall and bristling bank 
Of the arm'd river, while with straggling light 

The stars peep through the vapours dim and 
dank, [the smoka 

Which curl in curious wreaths: — how soon 
Of Hell shall pall them in a deeper cloak. 

LXXXVII. 

Here pause we for the present — as even then 
That awful pause, dividing life from death. 

Struck for an instant on the hearts of men. 
Thousands of whom were drawing their last 
breath ! 

A moment— and all %vill be life again I 

The march ! the charge ! the shouts of either 
faith! 

Hurra ! and Allah ! and— one moment more-« 

The death-cry drowning in the battle's rba**. 



3e9 



420 



DON JUAN. 



n 



Bon 3(uan. 



OAWTA THE EIGHTH 



OH biood and thunder' and oh b ood and 

wounds! [deem, 

These are but vulgar oaths, as you may 
Too gentle reader ! and most shocking sounds : 
And so they are ; yet this is Glory's dream 
Unriddled, and as my true Muse expounds 
At present such things, since they are her 
theme, 
So be they her inspirers! Call them Mars, 
Bellona, what you -will — they mean but wars. 

II. 
All was prepared— the fire, the sword, the men 

To wield them in their terrible array. 
The army, like a lion from his den, 

MarchVl forth with nerve and sinews bent 
to slay, — 
A human Hydra, issuing from its fen 

yro breathe destruction on its winding way, 
Whose heads were heroes, which cut ofi'in vain 
Immediately in others grew again. 

in. 
History can only take things in the gross ; 

But could we know them in detail, perchance 
(n balaucing the profit and the loss, 

War's merit it by no means might enhance, 
To waste so much gold for a liltfe dross. 

As hath been done, mere conquest to advance. 
The drying up a single tear has more 
Of honest fame, than shedding seas of gore. 

IV. 

And why? because it brings self-approbation; 

Whereas the other, after aU its glare. 
Shouts, bridges, arches, pensions from a nation, 

Which (it may be) has not much left to spare, 
A higher title, or a loftier station. 

Though thej may make Corruption gape or 
stare. 
Vet, in the end, except in 'Freedom's battles, 
.Are nothing but a child of Murder's rattles. 

V. 

And such (hey are,— and such tuey will be 
found : 

Not so Leonidas and W^ashington, 
Whose every battle-field is holy ground, 

Which breathes of nations saved, not world* 



How sweetly on the ear such echoes sound! 
While the mere victor's may appal or stun 
The servile and the vain, such names will b* 
A watchward till the future shall be free. 



The night was dark, and the thick mist allow'd 
Nought to be seen save the artillery's flame, 

W hich arch'd the horizon like a fiery cloud. 
And in the Danube's waters shone the 
same — 

A mirror'd hell! the volleying roar, and loud 
Long booming of each peal on peal, o'ercame 

The ear far more than thunder; for Heaveii'.s 
flashes (;j^sii„ J 

bpare, or smite rarely— man's make millions 

VII. 

The column order'd on the assault scarce pass'd 
Beyond the Russian batteries a few toiscs 
When up the bristling Moslem rose at last. 

Answering the Chiistian thimdors with liW 
„, ^^'^-e-^ : ^ [braced, 

Ihen one vast fire, air, earth, and stream em 
Which rock'd as 'twere beneath the mighty 
noises ; ' [when 

While the whole rampart blazed like Etna, 
The restless Titan hiccups in his den. 

VIII. 

And one enormous shout of " Allah ! " rose 
In the same moment, loud as even the roar 

Of war's most mortal engines, to their foes 
Huriing defiance: city, stream, and shore 

Resounded "Allah!" and the clouds which' 
close 
W^th thickening canopv the conflict o'er, 

Vibrate to the Eternal name. Hark! throu'-rfa 

All sounds it pierceth " Allah! Allah! Hu!" IM 

IX. 

The columns were in movement one and all, 
But of the portion which attack'd bv water, 

Thicker than leaves the lives began to fall. 
Though led by Arseniew, that great son o. 
slaughter. 

As brave as ever faced both bomb and ball. 
" Carnage " (so Wordsworth tells you) " i.s 
God's daughter:" 

If he speak truth, she is Christ's sister, and 

Just now behaved as in the Holy Lanrl. 

X. 

The Prince de Ligne was wounded in the knee; 

Count Chapeau-Bras, too, had a bjdl between 
His cap and head, which proves the head vo oa 

Aristocratic as was ever seen 



DON JUAN. 



42] 



Because it then received no injury 

Mc than the cap ; in fact, the ball could 
jiean 
Vo haiTO unto a right legitimate head. 
"Ashes to ashes" — why not lead to lead? 

XI. 

Also the General Markow, Brigadier, 
Insisting on removal of the prince 

Amidst some groaning thousands dying near,— 
All common fellows, who might writhe aiid 
wince, 

And shriek for water into a deaf ear, — 
The General Markow, who could thus evince 

His sympathy for rank, by the same token, 

To teach him greater, had his own leg broken. 

XII. 

Three hundred cannon threw up their emetic, 

And thirty thousand muskets flungtheir pills 
tiike hail, to make a bloody diuretic. 

Mortality ! thou hast thy monthly bills ; 
Thv plagues, thy famines, thy physicians, vet 
"; ■ tick, . ' [ills 

■ Like the death-watch, within our ears the 
Past, present, and to come ; — but all may yield 
To the true portrait of one battle-field. 

XMI. 
There the still varying pangs, which multiply 

Until their very number makes men hard 
By the infinities of agony, 

Which meet the gaze, whate'er it may re- 
gard— 
The groan, the roll in dust, the all-white eye 

Turn'd back within its socket, — these reward 
Your rank and file by thousands, while the rest 
May win perhaps a nband at the breast ! 

XIV. 

Vet I love glory; — glory's a great thing: — 

Think what it is to be in your old age 
Maiutain'd at the expense of your good king: 

A moderate pension shakes full many a sage, 
And heroes are but made for bards to sing. 

Which is still better; thus in verse towage 
Tour wars eternally, besides enjoying 

Half-pay for Hfe, make mankind worth de 
stroying. 

XV. 

The troops, already disembark'd, push'd on 
To take a battery on the right; the others. 

Who landed lower down, their landing done, 
Had set to work as briskly as their brothers: 

Being grenadiers, they mounted one by one, 
Cheerfid as children climb the breasts of 
mothers, 

O'er the entrenchment and the palisade, 

Qoite orderly, hs if upon parade. 



And this was admirable; for so hot 

The fire was, that were red Vesuvius loaded 

Besides its lava, with all sorts of shot 

And shells or hells, it coidd not more hav« 
goaded. 

Of officers a third fell on the spot, 

A thing vi-hich victory by no means boded 

To gentlemen engaged in the assault- 

Hounds, when the huntsman tumbles, ar° at 
faidt. 



But here I leave the general concern, 
To track our hero on his path of fame : 

He must his laurels separately earn ; 

For fifty thousand heroes, name by name. 

Though all deserving equally to turn 
A couplet, or an elegy to claim. 

Would form a lengthy lexicon of glory, 

And what is worse still, a much longer story 

XVIII. 

And therefore we must give ihe greater numbel 
To the Gazette — which doubtless fairly dealt 

By the deceased, who lie in famous slumber 
In ditches, fields, or where'er they felt 

Their clay for the last time their souls encum- 

ber;— [spelt 

Thrice happy he whose name has been well 

In the despatch: I knew a man whose loss 

Was printed GroM, although his name was 
Grose. 103 



Juan and Johnson joined a certain coi-ps. 
And fought away with might and main, no» 
knowing 
The way which they had never trod before, 
And still less guessing where they might be 
going; [o'er, 

But on they march'd, dead bodies trampling 
Firing, and thrusting, slashing, sweating^ 
glowing, 
But fighting thoughtlessly enough to win. 
To their two selves, o)ie whole bright bulletin. 

XX 

Thus on they wallow'd in the bloody mire 
Of dead and dying thousands, — sometimes 
gaining [nigho>i 

A yai-d or two of ground, which brought them 
To sjme odd angle for which all wert 
straining; 

At other times, i-epulsed by the close fire. 
Wnich really pour'd as if all hell were rainin* 

Instead of heaven, they stumbled backwards o'a 

A wounded comrade, sprawling in his gore. 



422 



DON JUAN. 



Thoug'i 't was Don Juan's first of fields, and 
though 

The nightly muster and the silent march 
In ihe cliiil dark, when courage does not glow 

So much as under a triumphal arch, 
Perhaps might make him shiver, yawn, or throw 

A glance on the dull clouds (as thick as 
starch, [day ; — 

iVuitu stilien'd heaven) as if he wish'd for 
I'et lor all this he did not run away. 

XXII. 

'ndeed he could not. But what if he had ? 

There have been and are heroes who begun 
With something not much better, or as bad : 

Frederic the Great from Molwitz deign'd to 
run 
For the first and last time ; for, like a pad, 

Or hawk, or bride, most moruils after one 
Warm bout are broken into their new tricks. 
And fight like fiends for pay or politics. 

XXIII. 

He was what Erin calls, in her sunlime 
Old Erse or Irish, or it may be Punic; — 

(The antiquariansl04 who can settle time, 
Which settles all things, Koman, Greek, or 
Runic, [same clime 

Bwear that Pat's language sprung from the 
With Hannibal, and wears the Tyrian tunic 

Of Dido's alphabet ; and this is rational 

is any other notion, and not national) ; — 

XXIV. 

But Juan was quite " a broth of a boy," 
A thing of impulse and a child of song ; 

Now swimming in the sentiment of joy. 
Or the sensatio7i{\ilha.t. phrase seem wrong). 

And afterward, if he must needs destroy. 
In such good company as always tlu'ong 

'1 o battles, sieges, and that kind of pleasure. 

No less delighted to employ his leisure ; 



XXVI. 

I almost lately ha' e begun to doubt 

Whelherhell'spc'-vement — ifitbeso;jat>erf— 

Must not have latterly been quite worn out, 
Not by the numbers good intent hath saved. 

But by the mass who go l)elow without 
Those ancient good intentions, which once 
shaved [hell, 

And smooth d the brimstone of that street o*> 

Which bears the greatest likeness to Fail 
Mall. 

XXVII 

Juan, by some strange chaiioC, which oft divides 
Warrior from warrior in their grim career, 

Like chastest wives from constant husbands' 
sides 
Just at the close of the first bridal year. 

By one of those odd turns of Fortune's tides, 
Was on a sudden rather puzzled here, 

When, after a good deal of heavy filing. 

Fie found himself jUone, and friends retiring. 

XXVIII 

1 don't know how the thing occurr'd — it might 
Be that the gi-eatei- part were kill'd or 
wounded, 

And that the rest had faced unto the right 
About ; a circumstance which has con 
founded 

Caesar himself, who, in the very sight 

Of his whole army, which so much abounded 

In courage, was obliged to snatch a shield, 

And rally back his Romans to the field. 

XXIX. 

Juan, who had no shield to snatch, and was 
No Csesar, but a fine young lad, who fought 

He knew not why, arriving at this pass, 
Stopp'd for a minute, as perhaps he ought 

For a much longer time; then, like an ass — 
(Start not, kind reader, since gieat Homer 
thought 

This simile enough lor Ajax, Juan 

Perhaps may find it better than a new one) ; — 



3ut always without malice : if he warr'd 
Or loved, it was with what we call " the 
best Icard, 

Intentions," which form all mankind's trump 
To be produced when brought up to the test. 

The statesman, hero, harlot, lawyer — ward 
OS" each attack, when people are in quest 

Of their designs, by saying they meant well; 

Tis pitv "that such meaning should pave 
heU. •»<» 



Then, like an ass, he went upon his way, 
And, what was stranger, never look'd b& 
hind ; 

But seeing, flashing forward, like the day 
Over the hills, a fire enough to blind 

Those who dislike to look upon a fray. 
He stumbled on, to try if he could find 

A path, to add his own slight arm and forces 

To c;rps, the greater part of which were 
corses. 



DON JUAN. 



423 



XXXI. 

Perceiving theu no more the commandant 
Of hi» own coips, nor even the coi-ps, which 
had 
Quite disappear'd — the gods know how ! (leant 
Account for every thing N\hich may look 
bad 
a history ; but we at least may grant 

It was not marvellous thai a mere lad, 
In search of glory, should look on before. 
Nor care a pinch of snuff about his corps:; — 

XXXII. 

Perceiving nor commander nor commanded, 
A.i.d left at large, like a young heir, to make 

His way to — where he knew not — single 
handed ; 
As travellers follow over bog and brake 

4.n " ignis tatuus ;" or as sailors stranded 
Uuto the nearest hut themselves betake; 

!So Juan, following honour and his nose, 

R'lsh'd where the thickest fire announced 
most foes. 

XXXIII. 

He Knew not where he was, nor gi'eatly cared, 
For he was dizzy, busy, and his veins 

Fill'd as wiih lightning — for his spirit shared 
The hour, as is the case with lively brains ; 

^ud where tiie hottest fire was seen and heard. 

And the loud cannon peal'd his hoarsest 

strains, [shaken 

He rush'd, while earth and air were sadly 

By thy humane discovery. Friar Bacon !'06 

XXXIV. 

/ind as he rush'd along, it came to pass he 
Fell in with what was late the second 
column, 

fTnder the orders of the General Lascy, 
But now reduced, as is a bulky volume 

Into an elegant extract (much less massy) 
or heroism, and took his place with solemn 

Air 'midiBi the rest, who kept their valiant 
faces 

A nd levell'd weapons still against the glacis. 

XXXV. 

Just at this crisis up came Johnson too. 

Who had " retreated," as the phrase is 
when 
Men run away much rather than go through 

Destruction's jaws into the devil's den; 
But Johnson was a clever fellow, who 

Knew when and how " to cut and come 
again," 
And never ran away, except when running 
W<is nothing but a valorous kind of cinming. 



XXXTI, 

And so, when all his cor})swere dead ordyirig 
Except Don Juan, a mere novice, whose 

More virgin valour never dreamt of fiying, 
From ignorance of danger, which indues 

Its votaries, like innocence relying 

On its own strength, with careless nervet 
and thews, — 

Johnson retired a little, just to rally 

Those who catch cold in "shadows ofDeath'i 
valley." 

XXXVII. 

And there, a little shelier'd from the shot. 
Which rain'd from bastion, battery, parapet, 

Rampart, wall, casement, house — lor iliere 
was not 
In this extensive city, sore beset 

By Christian soldiery, a single spot [yet.^-. 
Which did not combat like the devil, as 

He found a number of Chasseurs, all scatter'd 

By the resistance of the chase they batter'd. 



And these he call'd on; and, what's strange, 
they came 

Unto his call, unlike " the spirits from 
The vasty deep," to whom you may exclaim. 

Says Hotspur, long ere they will leave 
their home. 
Their reasons were uncertainty, or shame 

At shrinking from a bullet or a bomb, 
And that odd impulse, which in wars or creeds 
Makes men, lilie cattle, follow him who leads. 

XXXIX. 

By Jove I he was a noble fellow, Johnson, 
And though his name, than Ajax or Achilles, 

Sounds less harmonious, underneath the sun 

soon Lkill his 

We shall not see his likeness: he could 

Man quite as quietly as blows the monsoon 
Her steady breath (which som-. months th« 
same still is) : 

Seldom he varied feature, hue, or muscle. 

And could be very busy without bustle ; 



And therefore, when he ran away, he did so 
Upon reflection, knowing that behind 

He would find others who would fain be rid so 
Of idle apprehensions, which like wind 

Trouble heroic stomachs. Though their lids so 
Oft are soon closed, all heroes are not blind, 

But when they light upon immediate death. 

Retire a little, merely to take breath. 



4^4 



DON JUAN. 



But Johnson only ran off, to return 
With muny other warriors, as we said, 

Unto that rather somewhat misty bourn, 
Which Hamlet tells us is a pass of dread. 

To Jack, howe er, this gave but slight con- 
cern : 
His soul (like galvanism upon the dead) 

Acted upon the living as on wire, 

And led them back into the heaviest fire. 

XLII. 

Egad ! they found the second time what they 
The first'time thought quite terrible enough 

To My from, malgre all which people say 
Of glory, and all that immortal stuff 

Which fills a regiment (besides their pay. 
That daily shilling which makes warriors 
tough) — [welcome, 

They found on their return the self-same 

Which made some think, and others know a 
hell come. , ^j£ 

XLIII. 

They fell as thick as harvests beneath hail, 
Grass before scythes, or Corn below the 
sickle, 

Proving that trite old truth, that life's as frail, 
As any other boon for which men stickle. 

The Turkish batteries thrash'd them like a flail, 
Or a good boxer, into a sad pickle 

Patting the very bravest, who were knock'd 

Upon the head, before their guns were cock'd. 

XLIV. 

The Turks behind the traverses and flanks 

Of the next bastion, fired away like devils, 

And swept, as gales sweep foam away, whole 

ranks : [levels 

However, Heaven knows how, the Fate who 

Towns, nations, worlds, in her revolving 

pranks. 

So order'd it, amidst these sulphury revels. 

That Johnson and some few who had not 

scamper' d, 
R<;ach'd the interior talusio? of the rampart. 

XLV. 

First one or two, then five, six, and a dozen 
Came mounting quickly up, for it was now 

All neck or nothing, as, like pitch or rosin, 
Flame was shower'd forth above, as well's 
below, [chosen, 

So that you scarce could say who best had 
The gentlemen that were the first to show 

Their martial faces on the parapet. 

Or those who thought it brave to wait as yet. 



But those who scaled, found out that theil 
advance 

Was favour'd by an acciiejit or blunder 
The Greek or Turkish Cohorn's ignorance 

Had pallisado'd in a way you 'd wonder 
To see in forts of Netherlands or France — 

(Though these to our Gibraltar must knock 
under) — 
Right in the middle of the parapet 
Just named, these palisades were primly se« 

XLVII. 

So that on either side some nine or ten 

Paces were left, whereon you could contrive 

To march ; a great convenience to our men, 
At least to all those who were left alive, 

Who thus could form a line and fight again ; 
And that which farther aided them to strive 

Was, that they could kick down the palisades. 

Which scarcely rose much higher than gi-ass 
,5v._. blades. 

XLVIII. 

Among the first, — I will not say the first. 
For such precedence upon such occasions 

Will oftentimes make deadly qnan-els burst 
Out between friends aswellas allied nations: 

The Briton must be bold who really durst 
Put to such trial John Bull's partial 
patience. 

As say that Wellington at Waterloo 

Was beaten, — though the Prussians say a» 
too; — 

XLIX. 

And that if Bliicher, Bulow, Gneisenau, 
And God knows who besides in " au*" 
and " ow," 

Had not come up in time to cast an aMe'f'8 
Into the hearts of those who fought till now 

As tigers combat with an empty craw. 

The Duke of Wellington had ceased toshow 

His orders, also to receive his pensions : 

Which are the heaviest that our history 
mentions. 



But never mind ; — " God save the king !" and 
kings! 

For if he don't, I doubt if men will longer— 
I think I hear a little bird, who sings 

The people by and oy will be the stronger- 
The veriest jade will wince whose hai'nesa 
wrings 

So much into the raw as quite to wrong het 
Beyond the rules of posting, — and the mob 
At last fall sick of imitating Job. 



DON JUAN. 



425 



At first it grumbles, then it swears, and then, 
Like David, Hiiigs smooth pebbles 'gainst a 
giant ; 
At last it takes to weapons such as men 
Snatch when despair makes human hearts 
less pliant. 
Then comes " the tug of war;" — 'twill come 
again, [on 't," 

I rather doubt ; and I would fain say " fie 
[f I had not perceived that revolution 
\ ione can save the earth Irorn hell's pollution 

HI. 

But to continue : — I say not tJic first, 

But of the first, our little friend Don Juan 
VValk'd Of- the walls of Ismail, as if nursed 
Amidst ?uch scenes — though this was quite 
a new one [.thirst 

,,10 him, and I should hope to most. The 
ZAe ^' D^'-'O'i ^vhich so pierces through and 
through one, 
Pervaded bun. — although a generous creature, 
As waiTii iu heart as feminine in feature. 

Mil. 

And here he was — who upon woman's breast, 
Even from a child, fell like a child; 
howe'er 
Th*^ man in all the rest might be confest, 

'i"o him it was Elysium to bo there ; [test 

A )d lie could even withstand that awkward 

Which Rousseau points out to the dubious 

fair, [anhs;" 

' Ob,ervc your lover when he lenres your 

i5at Juan never left them, while ihey had 

chaiTiis, 



The General Lascy, who had been hard 
press'd, 

Seeing arrive an aid so opportune 
As were some hundred youngsters all abreast, 

Who came as if just dropp'd down from Um 
moon. 
To Juan, who was nearest him, address'd 

His thanks, and hopes to take the city so^a, 
Not reckoning him to be a "bast. 3e^^Il'ial)." 
(As Pistol calls it) but a young Livonian.. 

LVIl. 

Juan, to whom he spoke in German, knew 
As much of German as of Sanscrit, and 

In answer made an inclination to 

The general who held him in command ; 

For seeing one with ribands, black and blue, 
Stars, medals, and a bloody sword In hand. 

Addressing him iu tones which seem'd to 
thank. 

He recognised an officer of rank. 



Short speeches pass between two men who 
speak 

No common langiiage: and besides, in time 
01 war and taking towns, when many a shriek 

Rings o'er the dialogue, and many a crime 
Is perpetrated ere a word can break 

Upon the ear, and sounds of honor chime 
In like church-bells, with sigh, howl, groan, 

yell, prayer, 
Theie cannot be much conversation there. 



rjn^ess compell'd by fate, or wave, or wind. 
Or near relations, who are much the same. 

Biu here he was ! — where each tie that can 
bind 
Humanity must yield to steel and flame: 

And he whose very body was all mind, [tame 
Flung here by fate or circumstance, which 

The loftiest, hurried by the time and place, 

Dash'd on like a spurr'd blood-horse in a race. 

LV. 

So was his blood stirr'd while he found re 
sistance, 
As is the hunter's at the five-bar gate, 
Or double post and rail, where the existence 
;^^0f Britain's youth depends upon their 
^'" weight, 
The lightest being the safest: at a distance 

He hated cruelty, as all men hate 
Blood, until heated — and even then his own 
As 4.mes would curdle o 'er some heavy groan. 



And therefore all we have related in 

Tsyo long octaves, pass'd in a little minute; 

But in the same small minute, every sin 
Contrived to get itself comprised within it. 

The very cannon, deafened by the din, [linnet, 
Grew dumb, for you might almost hear a 

As soon as thunder, "midst the general noise 

Of human natme's agonising voice ! 



The town was enter d. Oh eternity ! — 

God made the country, and man made 
'he town," 
So Cowper says — anS I begin to be 

Ofhis opinion, when I see cast down 
Rome, Babylon, Tyre, Carthage, Nineveh, 

A 1 1 walls men know, and many never known; 
And pondering on the present and the past, , 
To decn the woods shall be our home at last.*-* 



4Si6 



DON JUAN. 



Of all mei^ saving Sylla the man-slayer, 
Who passes for in life and death most luckj, 

Of the great names which in our faces stare, 
The General Boon, back-woodsman of 
Kentucky, 

Was happiest among mortals any where ; 
For killing nothing but a bear or buck, he 

Enjoy'd the lonely, vigorous, harmless days 

Of his old age in wilds of deepest maze. 

LXII. 

Ciiiiie came not near him — she is not the 
child [toi 

Of solitude ; Health shrank not from him — 
Her home is in the rarely trodden wild,[more 

Where if men seek her not, and death be 
Their choice than life, forgive them, as be 
guiled 

By habit to what their own hearts abhor — 
In cities caged. The present case in point I 
Cite is, that Boon Uved hunting up to ninety ; 

LXIII. 

And what's still stranger, left behind a name 
For which men vainly decimate the throng, 

Not only famous, but of that good fame, 
Without which glory 'shut a tavern song — 

Simple, serene, the antipodes of shame, 
Which hate nor envy e'er could tinge with 
wrong ; 

An active hermit, even in age the child 

Of Nature, or the Man of Ross run wild. 



T is true he shrank from men even of his 
nation, [trees,— 

When they built up unto his darling 

He moved some hundred miles off, for a 

station [ease ; 

Where there were fewer houses and more 
The inconvenience of civilisation [please ; 

Is, that you neither can be pleased nor 
But where he met the individual man. 
He show'd himself as kind as mortal c;an 



LXVI 

And tall, and Strang, and swift of foot wew 

they. 
Beyond the dwarfing city's pale abortions^ 
Because their thoughts had never been the prey 
Of care or gain; the green woods were 
their portions; 
No sinking spirits told them they grew giey, 
No fashion made them apes of her distor 
tions ; 
Simple they were, not savage : and their rifies. 
Though very true, were not yet used for tritles. 

LXVII. 

Motion was in their days, rest in their slum- 
bers, [toil . 

And cheerfulness the handmaid of iheii 
Nor yet too many nor too few their numb<;rs; 

Corruption could not make their heaits hei 

soil; [cumbers; 

Thelust which stings, the splendour which en- 

With the free foresters divide.no sp>jil ; 
Serene, not sullen, were the sohtudes 
Of this unsighing people of the woods. 

LXVIII. 

So much for Nature : — by way of variety, 
Now back to thy great joys, Civilisation ! 

And the sweet consequence of large society. 
War, pestilence, the despot's desolation, 

The kingly scourge, the lust of notoriety, 
The milHons slain by soldiers for their 
ration, [score, 

The scenes like Catherine's boudoir at three 

With Ismail's stonn lo soften it the more. 

LXIX. 

The town was enter'd : first one column made 
Its sanguinary way good — then another; 

The reeking bayonet and the flashing blade 
Clash'd 'gainst ihe scimitar, and babe and 
mother, [braid: — 

With distant shrieks were heard Heaven to up- 
Still closer sulphury clouds began to 
smother [f<>>l 

The breath of morn and man, where foot by 

The madden'd Tui'ks their city still dispute.' 



He A'as ii>. a., alone : around him grew 
A sylvan tribe of children of the cha.-e, 

Whose young, umvaken'd world was evernew, 
Nor sword nor sorrow yet had left a trace 

On her unwrinkled brow, nor coidd you view 
A frown on Nature's or on liuman,face ; — 

The free-born "orest found and kept them free, 

And fivsb as is a torrent or a ti'ee 



Koutousow, he who aftenvard beat back [snow] 
(With some assistance from the frost ani] 

Napoleon on his bold and bloody track, 
Ithappen'd was himself beat back just now : 

He was a jolly fellow, and could crack 
His jest alike in face of friend or foe, [stake, 

Though life, and death, and victory were ai 

But here it seom'd his jokes had ceased totak«> 



DON JUAN. 



427 



F<. • having thrown himself into a tfitch, 
Follow J in haste by various grenadiers, 

Whose blood the puddle greatly did enrich, 
Hl' climb'd to where the parapet appears; 

But there his project reuch'd its utmost pitch 
("Mougst other deaths the General Ribau- 
pierre's 

l\'as much regretted), for the Moslem men 

Throw them all down into the ditch again. 

LXXII. 

And had it not been for some stray troops 
landing [stream 

They knew not where, being carried by the 
To some spot, where they lost their under- 
standing, 
•'And wander'd up and down as in a dream, 
^tJntil they reach'd, as daybreak was exj anding, 

That which a portal to their eyes did seem, — 
The great and gay Koutousow might have lain 
Where three parts of his column yet remain. 

LXXIII. 

And scrambling round the rampart, these same 
troops, 

After the taking of the " Cavalier,"'09 
Just as Koutousow's most " forlorn " of" hopes" 

Took, like chameleons, soiue slight tinge of 
feai-, 
Open'd the gate call'd "Kilia," to the groups 

Of baffled heroes, who stood shyly near. 
Sliding knee-deep in lately frozen mud. 
Now thaw'd into a mai'sh of human blood. 

LXXIV. 

The Kozacks, or, if so you please, Cos- 
sacques — [graphy, 

(I don't much pique myself upon ortho- 
So that I do not grossly err in facts, 

Stalisiics, tactics, politics, and geography) — 
Having been used to serve on horses' backs, 

And no great dilettanti in topography 
Of fortresses, but fighting where it pleases 
Their chiefs to order, — were all cut to pieces. 

LXXV. 

Their column, though the Turkish batteries 

thunder'd [rampart. 

Upon them, ne'ertheless had reach'd the 

fvAnd naturally thought they could have plun- 

•; • der'd 

The city, -nithout being farther hamper 'd; 
But as it happens to brave men , they bl under'd — 
The Turks at first pretended to have scam- 
per'd. 
Only to draw ihem 'twixt two bastion comers, 
From whence they sallied on those Christian 
•coniers. 



i^xvi. 

Then being taken by the tail — a taking 
Fatal to bishops as to soldiers — the.>-e 

Cossacques were all cutofi'as day was breaking, 
And found their lives were let at a short 
lease — 

But pcrish'd without shivering or shaking, 
Leaving as ladders their heap'd carcasses, 

O'er which Lieutenant-Colonel Vesouskoi 

March'dwith the brave battalion oi Poh^azki. — 



This valiant man kill'd all the Ti /)s.i, he met, 
But could not eat them, being in his turn 

Slain by some Mussulmans. \vh would not yet. 
Without resistance, sue their city burn. * 

The walls were won, but 'twas an even bet 
Which of the armies would have cause to 
moum : 

T was blow for blow, disputing inch by inch. 

For one would not retreat, nor l' other flinch. 

i.xxviir. 
Another column also sufier'd much : — 

And here we may remark with the historian. 
You should but give few cartridges to such 
Troops as are meant to march with gieate.st 
glory on : 
Whe7i matters must be carried by the touch 
or the bright bayonet, and tliey all should 
hurry on. 
They sometimes, with ahankering for existence. 
Keep merely firing at a foolish distance. 



A junction of the General Meknop's meu 
(Without the General, Avho had fallen somt 
time 

Before, being badly seconded just then) 
Was made at length with those who dared 
to climb 

The death disgorging rampart once again ; 
And though thcTurk's resistance was sublime 

They took the bastion, which the Seraskier 

Defended at a price extremely dear. 

LXXX. 

Juan and Johnson, and some volunteers 
Among the foremost, offer'd him good quartet 

A word which little suits with Seraskiers, 
Or at least suited not this vahant Tartar. 

He died, deserving well his country's tears, 
A savage sort of military martyr. 

An English naval officer, who wish'd 

To make him prisoner, was also di>ih*d : 



428 



DON JUAN. 



LXXXI. 

For all tne answer to his proposition 

Was from a pistol-shot that laid him dead ; 

On -which the rest, without more intermission, 
Began to lay about with steel and lead — 

The pious metals most in requisition 
On such occasions : not a single head 

Was spared; — three thousand Moslems perish'd 
here, 

And sixteen bayonets pierced the Seraskier. 

LXXXII. 

The city's taken — only part by part — 

And Death is drunk with gore : there 's not 
a street 

Where fights not to the last some desperate heart, 
For those for vvhom it soon shall cease to beat. 

Here War forgot his own destructive art 
In more destroying Nature ; and the heat 

Of carnage, like the Nile's sun-sodden slime, 

Engender'd monstrous shapes of every crime. 

LXXXIII. 

A Russian officer, in martial tread 
Over a heap of bodies, felt his heel 

Seized fast, as if 't were by the sei-pent's head 

Whose fangs Eve taught her human seed 

to feel; [bled, 

(ii vain he kick'd, and swore, and WTithed, and 
And howl'd for help as wolves do for a meal — 

The teeth still kept their gratifying hold, 

As do the subtle snakes described of old. 

LXXXIV. 

A dying Moslem, who had felt the foot 
Of a foe o'er him, snatch'd at it, and bit 

The Tery lendon which is most acute — 
(That which some ancient Muse or modern 
wit 

Named after thee, Achilles) and quite through *t 
He made the teeth meet, nor relinquish 'd it 

Even with his life — for (but they lie) 'tis said 

To the live leg still clung the sever'd head- 

LXXXV. 

However this may be, 't is pretty sure 
The Russian officer for life was lamed. 

For the Turk's teeth stuck faster than a skewer, 
And left him 'midst the invalid and maini'd : 

fhe regimental surgeon could not cure 
His patient, and perhaps was to be blamed 

More than the head of the inveterate foe, 

Which was cut off, and scarce even then let go. 

Lxxxvr. 

But then the fact's a fact — and 'tis the part 
Of a true poet to escape from fiction 

Whene'er he can ; for there is little art 
i.Q ieaving verse more free from the restriction 



Of truth than prose, unless to suit the mart 

For what is sometimes called poetic diction 
And that outrageous appetite for lies 
Which Satan angles with for souls, like flies. 

LXXXVII 

The city's taken, but not render'dl — No ! 

There 's not a Moslem that hath yieJdef 
sword : 
The blood may gush out, as the Danube's flo\» 

Rolls by the city wall; but deed nor wori 
Acknowledge aught of dread of death or foe. 

In vain the yell of victory is roar'd 
By the advancing Muscovite — the groan 
Of the last foe is echoed by his own. 

LXXXVIII. 

The bayonet pierces and the sabre cleaves. 

And human lives are lavish'd every where 
As the year closing whirls the scarlet leaves 

When the stripp'd forest bows to the 'oleak air 
And groans ; and thus the peopled city grieves 

Shorn of its best and loveliest, and left bare, 
But still it falls in vast and awful splinters, 
As oaks blown down with all their thousand 
winters. 

LXXXIX. 

It Is an awful topic — but 't is not 
My cue for any time to be terrific . 

For checker'ii as is seen our human lot 

With good, and bad, and worse, alike prolifit 

Of melancholy merriineni. to quote 

Too much of one sort would be soporific; — 

Without, or with, offence to friends or foes, 

I sketch your world exactly as it goes. 



And one good action in the midst of crimes 
Is " quite refreshing," in the affected phras« 

Of these ambrosial, Pharisaic times, 

With all their pretty milk-and-water ways, 

And may serve therefore to bedewtheserhymea 
A little scorch'd at present with the blaze 

Of conquest and its consequences, which 

Make epic poesy so rare and rich. 

XCI. 

Upon a taken bastion, where there lay 

Thousands of slaughter'd men, a yet wame 
group 

Of murder'd women, who had found theirwaj 
To this vain refuge, made the good heart droop 

And shudder ; — while, as beautiful as May, 
A female child of ten years tried to stoop 

And hide her little palpitatnig breast 

Amidst the bodies iuH'd in bloody rest 



DON JUAN 



429 



XCII. 

Two rillanous Cossacques pursued the chiW 
Willi flashing eyes and weapons: match'd 
with them, 

The rudest hrule that roams Siberia s wild 
Has feelings pure and polish'd as a gem, — 

The bear is civilised, the woll' is mild : 
And whom for this at last must we condemn? 

Their natures? or their sovereigns, who employ 

All aits to teach their subjects to destroy ? 

XCIII. 

Their sabres glitter'd o'er her little head, 
Whence her fair hair rose twining with 
affright, 
Hei- hidden face was plunged amidst the dfead: 
When Juan caught a glimpse of this sad 
sight, 
I shall not say exactly what he said, 

Because it might not solace " ears polite;" 
But what he did, was to lay on their backs. 
The readiest way of reasoning with Cos- 
sacques. 

xciv. 

One's hip he slash'd, and split the other's 

shoulder, [seek, 

And drove them •with their brutal yells to 

If there might be chirurgeons who could solder 

The wounds they richly merited, and 

shriek [colder 

Their baffled rage and pain; while waxing 

As be turn'd o'er each pale and gory cheek, 

D !)n Juan raised his little captive from 

The heap a moment more had made her tomb. 

xcv. 

And she was chill as they, and on her face 
A slender streak of blood announced how 



xcrn. 

Up carae John Johnson (I wi'J not stty 
" Jack," [place 

For that were vulgar, cold, and common- 
On great occasions, such as an attack 

On cities, as hath been the present case): 
Up Johnson came, with hundreds at his back. 

Exchuniing: — "Juan! Juan! On, boy! 
brace 
Your arm, and I '11 bet Moscow to a dollar. 
That you and I will win St. George's coUar.H' 



' The Seraskier is knock'd upon the head. 

But the stone bastion still remains, wheren 

The old Pacha sits among some hundreds 

dead, [din 

Smoking his pipe quite calmly 'midst the 

Of our artillery and his own : 'tis said 

Our kill'd, already piled up to tliechin. 
Lie round the battery ; but still it batters. 
And grape in volleys, like a vineyard, scatter* 



" Then up with me!" — But Juan answer' d, 
" Look 
Upon this child — I saved her — must not 
leave [nook 

Her life to chance ; but point me out some 
Of safety, where she less may shrink and 
grieve, [took 

And I am with you." — Whereon Johnson 
A glance around — and shi-ugg'd, and twitth'd 
his sleeve '" You' re right ; 

And black silk neckcloth — and replied, 
Poor thing! what's to be done? I 'm puz 
zled qiute." 



Her fate had been to that of all her race ; 

For the same blow which laid her mothei 

here [trace, 

Had scarr'd her brow, and left its crimson 

As the last link with all she had held dear* 
But else unhurt, she opcn'd her large eyes, 
And gazed on Juan with a wild surprise. 

XCVI. 

Just at this instant, while their eyes were fix'o 

Upon each other, with dilated glance, 
^n Juan's look, pain, pleasure, hope, fear, 
mix'd [chance 

. With joy to save, and dread of some mis- 
Un',o his protegee ; while hers, transfixed 

With infant terrors, glared as from a trance, 
A pure, transparent, pale, yet radiant face, 
Like to a lighted alabaster vase; — 



Said Juan — " Whatsoever is to be [cure 

Done, I '11 not quit her till she seems se- 

Of present life a good deal more than we." — 
Quoth Johnson — " NeitJier will I quitt 
ensure ; ' 

But at the least you may die gloriously,"— 
Juan replied — " At least I will endure 

Whate'er is to be borne— ^ \t not resign 

This child, who is paretrocss, and therefora 
mine." 



Johnson said — " Juan, we've no time to lose; 

The child 's a pretty child — a very pretty— 
I never saw such eyes — but hark! nowchooiM 

Between your fame and feelings, pride vtA 
pity ;— 



430 



DON JUAN. 



fiark ! how the roar increases ! — no excuse 
Will sers-e when there is plunder in a 
city ; — 
I shotild be loath to march without you, but, 
By God ! we '11 be too late for the first cut." 

oil. 
But Juan was immoveable ; until 

Johnson, who really loved him in his way, 

Pick'd out amongst his followers with some 

skill [prey; 

Sucb as he thought the least given up to 
And swe;mng if the infant came to ill [day ; 

That Lhey should all be shot on the next 
But if she were dehver'd safe and sound, 
They should at least have fifty rubles round, 



And all allowances besides of plunder, [then 
In fair proportion with their comrades; — 

Juan c(m.^cnted to march on through thunder, 
Which thinn'd at every step their ranks ol 
III. n ; 

And yet the rest rush'd eagerly — no wonder 
For they were heated by the hope of gain, 

A thing which happens every where each day — 

No hero trusteth wholly to half pay. 



Are they — now furious as the sweeping ware^ 
Now moved with pity: even as sometime! 
nods 
The rugged tree unto the summer wind. 
Compassion breathes along'the savage mind 

CVII. 

But he -would not be taken, and replied 
To all the propositions of sun-ender 

By mowing Christians down on every side. 
As obstinate as Swedish Chai'les . ak 
Bender. 11 1 ., 

His five brave boys no less the foe defied; '^ 
Whereon the Russian pathos gi-ew less 
tender. 

As being a virtue, like terrestrial patience, 

Apt to wear out on trifling provocations. 

CVIII. 

And spite of Johnson and of Juan, who 
Expended all their Eastern phraseology 

In begging him, for God's sake, just to show 
So much less fight as might form an apo- 
logy 

For them in saving such a desperate foe—' 
He hew'd away, like doctors of theology 

When they dispute with sceptics; and with 
curses [nurses. 

Struck at his friends, as babies beat their 



And such is victory, and stich is man ! [God 
At least nine-tenihs of what we call so ; — • 

May have anotlier name for half we scan 
As human beings, or his ways are odd. 

But to our subject: a brave Tartar khan — 
Or " sultan." as the author (to whose nod 

In prose I bend my humble verse) doth call 

This chieftain — somehow would not yield at 
aU: 



Nay, he had wounded, though but slightly, 
both 

Juan and Johnson ; whereupon they fell, 
The first with sighs, the second ^vith an oath, 

Upon his angry sultanship, pell-mell, 
And all around were grown exceeding wroth 

At such a pertinacious infidel. 
And pour'd upon him and his sons like rain, 
Which they resisted like a sandy plain 



But fiank'd hy Jive brave sons (such is poly- 
gamy, [where none 

That she spawns warriors by the score, 
Are prosecuted for that false crime bigamy), 

He never would believe the city won [Ami 
While courage clung but to a single twig. — 

Describing Priam's, Peleus',or Jove's son? 
Neither — but a good, plaiji, old, temperate 

man, 
Who fought with his fi"" children in the van. 



To take him was the point. — The truly brave. 

When they behold the brave oppress'd 

with odds, [save; — 

Aye touch'd with a desire to shield and 
A mikture of wild beasts and demi-gods 



That drinks and still is dry. At last the/' 
perish'd^ — - 

His second son was levell'd by a shot ; 
His third was sabred; and the fourth, most 
cherish'd 
Of all the five, on bayonets met his lot ; 
The fifth, who, by a Christian mother notv 
nsh'd. 
Had been neglected, ill-used, and what not 
Because deform'd, yet died all game and 

bottom. 
To save a sire who blush'd that he begot him. 

CXI. 

The eldest was a true and tameless Tartar, 
As great a scorner of the Nazarene 

As ever Mahomet pick'd out for a martyr, 
W he only saw the black-ej ed girls in green. 



DON JUAN. 



431 



Who make the beds of those who won't take 
quarter 
On tarlh, in Paradise ; and when once seen, 
Those ln)uris, like all other pretty creatures, 
Do just whate'er, they please, by dint of fea 



cxii. 
And what they pleased to do with the young 
khan 
111 heaven I know not, nor pretend to guess ; 
But doubtless they prefer a fine young man 
To tough old heroes, and can do no less ; 
And that 's the cause no doubt why, if we 
scan 
A field of battle's ghastly wilderness, 
For one rough, weather-beaten, veteran body, 
You '11 find ten thousand handsome coxcombs 
bloody. 

CXIII. 

Your houris also have a natural pleasure 
In lopping off your lately married men, 

B.'fore the bridal hours have danced their 
measure, 
And the sad, second moon grows dim again, 

Or dull repentance hath had dreary leisure 
To wish him back a bachelor now and then. 

And thus your houri (it may be) disputes 

Of these brief blossoms the immediate fruits. 

cxiv. 

Thus the young khan, with houris in his 

jsight, [brides, 

Thought not upon the charms of fouryoung 

But bravely rush'd on his first heavenly night. 

In short, howe'er our better faith derides. 

These black-eyed virgins make the Moslems 

fight, [besides, — ■ 

As though there were one heaven and none 

Whereas, if all be true we hear of heaven 

Aiid hell, there must at least be six or seven. 

cxv. 
So fully flash'd the phantom on his eyes, 

That when the very lance was in his heart. 
He shouted " Allah !" and saw Paradise 

With all its veil of mystery drawn apart. 
And bright eternity without disguise 

On his soul, like a ceaseless sunrise, dart: — 
With prophets, houris, angels, saints, descried 
In one voluptuous blaze, — and then he died : 

cxvi. 
But with a heavenly rapture on his face, 
The good old khan, who long had ceased 
to see 
Houris, or aught except his florid race 

Who grew like cedars round bun gloriouidy— 



When he beheld his latest hero grace 

The earth, which he became ir*e a fell 'd tree, 
Paused for a moment from the fight, and cast 
A glance on that slain son, his first and last 

cxvii. 

The soldiers, who beheld him drop his point, 
Stopp'd as if once more willing to concede 

Quarter, in case he bade them not " uroynt I" 
As he before had done. He did not heed 

Their pause nor signs : his heart was out o! 
joint, 
And shook (till now unshaken) like a reed, 

As he look'd down upon his children gone, 

And felt — though done with life — he was 
alone. 

CXVJTI. 

But 't was a transient tremor : — with a spring 
Upon the Russian steel his breast he flung^ 
As carelessly as hurls the moth her wing 
Against the light wherein she dies : he 
clung 
Closer, that all the deadlier they might wring, 
Unto the bayonets which had pierced hii» 
young ; 
And throwing back a dim look on his sons. 
In one wide wound pour'd forth his soul at 
once. 

cxix. 
Tis strange enough — the rough, tough soldiers, 
who 
Spared neither sex nor age in their career 
Of carnage, when this old man was pierced 
through, 
And lay before them with his children near, 
Touch'tl by the heroism of him they slew, 

W'ere melted for a moment : though no tear 
Flow'd from their bloodshot eyes, ad red with 

strife, 
They honour d such detennined scorn of life, 

cxx. 
But the stone bastion still kept up its fire, 

Where the chief pacha calmly held his post. 
S(!me twenty times he made the Russ retire, 

And baffled the assaults of all their host : 
At length he condescended to inquire 

!>' yet the city's rest were won or lost; 
And being tokl the latter, sent a bey 
To answer Ribas' summons to give way. 

CXXI. 

In the mean time, cross-legg'd, with great sang 
froid, 
Among the scorching ruins he sat smoking 
Tobacco on a little cai-pet ; — Troy 

Scxw nothing like the scene around ; — yef 
lot king 



m. 



DON JUAN. 



With maxtial stoicism, nought seemd to annoy 

His stern philosophy; but gently stroking 
His beard, he pufl""d his pipes ambrosial gales, 
A if he had three lives, as well as tails. 

CXXII. 

Tht town was taken — whether he might yield 
Hi.uself or bastion, little matter'd now: 

His stubborn valour was no future shield. 
Ismail's no more I The crescent's silver bow 

Sunk, and the crimson cross glared o'er the 
field, 
But red with no redeeming gore: the glow 

Ol" burning streets, like moonlight on the water. 

Was imaged back in blood,the sea of slaughter. 

CXXIII. 

All that the mind would shrink from of excesses ; 

All that the body pei-petrates of bad ; 
All that we read,hear,dream,of man'sdistresses; 

All that the devil would do if run stark mad ; 
All that deties the worst which pen expresses; 

All by which hell is peopled, or as sad 
As hell — mere mortals who their power abuse — 
Was here (as heretofore aud since) let loose. 

CXXIV. 

If here and there some transient trait of pity 

Was shown, and some more noble heart 
broke through 
Its bloody bond,aml saved.perhaps, some pretty 

Child, or an aged, helpless man or two — 
What's this in one annihilated city, [grew? 

Where thousand loves, and ties, and duties 
Cockneys of London ! Muscadins of Paris! 
Just ponder what a pious pastime war is. 

cxxv. 
Think how the joys of reading a Gazette 

Are purchased by all agonies and crimes: 
Or if these do not move you, don't forget 

Such doom maybe your own in after-limes. 
Meantime the Taxes, Castlereagh, and Debt, 

Are hints as good as sermons, or as rhymes. 
Read yonr own hearts and Ireland's present 

story. 
Then feec^ her famine fat with Wellesley's glory. 

OXXVI. 

But still there is imto a patriot nation, 

Which loves so well its country and its king, 

A subject of sublimest exultation — 

Bear it, ye Muses, on your brightest wing ! 

Howe'er the mighty locust. Desolation, 

Strip your green fields, and to your harvests 
cling, 

G aunt famine never shall approach the throne — 

Though Ireland starve, great George weighs 
tv5 enty stone. 



cxxv II. 

But let me put an end unto my theme ; 

There was an end of Ismail — hapless towK?" 
Far fiash'd her burning towers o'er Danube'a,r 
stream, 
And redly ran his blushing waters down. 
The horrid war-whoop and the shriller scream 
Rose still ; but fainter were the thunderi 
grown : 
Of forty thousand who had mann'd the wall, 
Some hundreds breathed — the rest were silenl 
all! 

CXXVIII. 

In one thing ne'ertheless "t is fit to praise 
The Russian army upon this occasion, 

A virtue much in fashion now a-days. 

And therefore worthy of commemoration: 

The topic 's tender, so shall be my phrase — 
Perhaps the season's chill, and their long 
station 

In winter's depth, or want of rest and victual. 

Had made them chaste ; — they ravish'd very 
litLle. 

CXXIX. 

Much dirt they slay, more plunder, and nolesi 
Might here and there occur some violation 

In the other line; — but not to such excess 
As when the French, that dissipated nation 

Take towns by itorm : no causes can I guess^ 
Except cold weather and commiseration; 

But all the ladies, save some twenty f>cqre, 

Were almost as much virgins as before," 

cxxx. 

Some odd mistakes, too, happen'd in the dark, 

^M:iich show'd a want of lanterns, or oi 

taste — [mark 

Indeed the smoke was such they scarce could 
Their I'riendsfrom foes, — besides such thing* 
from haste 

Occur, though rarely, when there is a spark 
Of light to save the venerably chaste : 

But six old damsels, each of seventy years, 

Were all deflower'd by diflFerent gi-enadiers. 

CXXXI. 

But on the whole their continence was great' 
So that some disappointment theie ensued 

To those who had felt the inconvenient state 
Of " single blessedness," and thought it good 

(Since it was not their fault, but only fate, 
To bear these crosses) for each waning pnid« 

To make a Roman sort of Sabine wedding. 

Without the expense and the suspense ot ood 
ding 



DON jua:n'. 



433 



cxxxu. 
Some voices of the buxom middle-aged 

Were also heard to wonder in the din 
(Widows of forty were these birds long caged) 

" Wherefore the ravishing did not begin!" 
But while thelhirst for gore and plunder raged, 

Theie was small leisure for superfluous sin ; 
But whether they escaped or no, lies hii 
In darkness — 1 can only hope they did. 

f cxxxni. 

ouwarrow now was conqueror — a match 
For Timour or for Zinghis in his trade. 

While mosques and streets, beneath his eyes, 

like thatch [hiy'd, 

Blazed, and the cannon's roar was scarce al- 

With bloody hands he wrote his first despatch ; 
And here exactly follows what he said: — 

" Glory to God and to the Empi-ess! " [Powers 

Eternal', such namesmingledly Ismail's ours." 



CXXXVII. 

And when you hear historians talk of thrones, 

And those that sate upon them, let it be 
As we now gaze upon the mammoth's bones. 

And wonder what old world such things 
could see, 
Or hieroglyphics on Egyptian stones, 

Thj pleasant riddles of luturity — 
Guessing at what shall happily be hid. 

As the real purpose of a pyramid. 



JReader ! I hlfc|kept my word, — at leastso fal 
As the first^anto promised. You hare now 

Had sketches of love, tempest, travel, war — 
All very accurate, you must allow, 

And e/>/c,*if plain truth should prove no bar; 
For I have drawn much less with along bow 

Than my forerunners. Carelessly I sing. 

But Phoebus lends me now and then a string, 



cxxxiv. 

Methinks these are the most tremendous words, 
Since"Mene,Menc,Tckel," and "Upharsin," 

Which hands or penshaVe evertraced of swords. 
Heaven help me ! I 'm but little of a parson : 

What Daniel read was short-hand of the Lord's, 
Severe, sublime ; the prophet wrote no farce 
on 

The fate of nations ; — but this Russ so witty 

Could rhyme, like Nero, o'er a burnirig city. 

cxxxv. 

He wrote this Polar melody, and set it, 
Duly accompanied by shrieks and groans. 

Which few will sing, 1 trust, but none forget 
it— 
For 1 will teach, if possible, the stones 

To rise against earth's tyrants. Never let it 
Be said that we still truckle unto thrones ; — 

But ye — our chililren's children I think how we 

Show'd what things were before the world was 
free : 

'^XXXVI. 

That hour is not for us, but i is for you : 
And as, in the great joy of your miflennium. 

You hardly will believe such things were true 
As now occur, I thought that I woulu pen 
you 'em ; 

But may their very memory perish too I 

Yet if perchance reraember'd, still disdain 
you 'em 

More than you scorn the savages of yore, 

'^'ho painted their hare limbs,butno/ with gor& 

29 



CXXXIX. 

With which I still can harp, and carp, and 
fiddle. 

What farther hath befallen or may befall 
The hero of this grand poetic riddle, 

I by and by may tell you, if at all : 
But now I choose to break off in the middle, 

Worn out with battering Ismail's stubborn 
wall, 
While Juan is sent off with the despatch. 
For which all Petersburgh is on the watch. 



CXL. 

This special honour was conferr'd, because 
He had behaved with courage and hu 
manity — [pause 

Which last men like, when they have time to 
From their ferocities produced by vanity. 

His little captive gain'd him some applause 
For saving her amidst the wild insanity 

Of carnage, — and I think he was more glad 
in her 

Safety, than his new order of St. Vladimir. 



The Moslem orphan went with her protector. 
For she was homeless, houseless , helpless ; all 

Her friends, like the sad family of Hector, 
Had perish 'd in the field or by the wall, 

Her very place of birth was but a spectre 
Of what ithadbeen; there the Muezzin's call 

To prayer was heard no more I — and .Tuan wept, 

And made a vow to shield her, which he kept. 
2 r 



lU 



DON JUAN. 



Bon 3juan. 



CANTO THE NINTH. 



Oh, WeHington ! (or " Villainton "—for Fame 
Sounds the heroic syllables both Avays; 

France could not even conquer your great name, 
Butpmm'ditdownto this facetious phrase 

Beating or beaten she will laugj^e same,) 
You have obtain'd great pensions and much 
praise : 

Glory like yours should any dare gainsay, 

Humanity would rise, and thunder " Nay!" 

II. 
I don't think that you used Kinnaird quite well 

In Marinet's affair — in fact, 'twas shabby. 
And like some other things w on't do to tell " 

Up«n your tomb in Westminster's old abbey. 
Upon the rest 't is not worth a\ hile to dwell, 

Such tales being for the tea-hours of some 
tabby ; 
But though youryears as man tend fast to zero, 
In fact your grace is still but a you7ig hero. 

III. 

ThoughBri tain owes (and paysyon too) so much, 
Yet Europe doubtless owes you gi-eatly more : 

You have re]>air"d Legitimacy's crutch, 
A prop not quite so ceitain as before : 

The Spanish, and the French, as well asDutch, 
Have seen, and 'elt. how strongly you restore ; 

And Waterloo has made the world your debtor 

(I wish your bai'ds would sing it rather better). 

IV. 

You are "the best of cut-throats:" — do not 
start; _ [applied:— 

7'v>e phiase is Shakspeare's, and not mis- 
Var's d brain-spattering, windpipe-slittingart. 

Unless her cause by right be sanctified. 
If you have acted once a generous part, 

The world,not the world's masters,will decide, 
And I shall be delighted to learn who. 
Save you and yours, have gain'd by Waterloo ? 



And swallowing eulogy mu-.h mo e than sail* 

May like being praised for every luck vblaa' 
Call'd" Saviour of ihe Nations"— not vetsavfcd, 
And " Europe's Liberator "—still euslaveo. 

VI. 

I 've done. Now go and dine from off the plat* 
Presented by the Prince of the Brazils, 

And send the sentinel before your gate 
A slice or two from your luxurious meals: 

He fought, but has not fed so veil of late. 
Some hunger, too, they say the people feels :— 

There is no doubt that you deserve your ration 

But pray give back a little to the nation. 

VII. 

I don't mean to reflect — a man so great as 
You, my lord duke ! is fai- above reflection: 

The high Eoman fashion, too, of C.-ncinnatus 
With modem history has tut small couuec' 
tion : 

Though as an Iiishman you love potatoes. 
You need not take ihem under your directioBt; 

And half a miiliun lor your Sabine fann 

Is rather dear !— 1 'm sine I mean no hann. 

VIII. 

Great men have always scorn 'd great recou> 
pences : 

Epaminondas saved his Thebes, and died, 
Not leaving even his funeral expenses: 

George*^^'ashington had thanks and nought 

beside, [igl 

Except the all-cloudless glory (which few men's 

To free his country: Pitt too had hisprida 
And as a high-sould minister of state is 
Renown'd lor ruining Great Britain giatis. 



Never had mortal man such opportunity. 
Except Napoleon, or abused it more' 

You might have freed i'allen Europe from the 
unit}^ 
Of tyrants, and been blest from shore to shoi e . 

And now—whaxis yom-lame ? Shall the Muse 

tune it ye? [o'er? 

Now — that the rabble's first vain shouts are 

Go 1 hear it in your famish 'd country's cries 

Behold the world ! and curse yom- victories ' 



I am no flatterer— you 've supp'd full of flatteiy : 
They say you like it too — 'tis nogi-eat wonder. 

He whose whole life has been assault and bat- 
tery, 
At last may get a little tired of th>inder ; 



As these new cantos touch on warlike feats. 
To you the unflattering Muse deigns to 
inscribe 

Truths, that you will not read in the Gazettes, 
But which 'tis time to teach, the hireluagtrib 



DON JUAN. 



435 



Who fatten on their country's gore, and debts, 

Must be recited, and — without a bribe. 
You did great things ; but not being great in 

mind, 
Have left undone the greatest — and mankind. 



Death laughs — Go ponder o'er the skeleton 
With which men image out the unknown 
thing 
That hides the pa^t world, like to a set sun 
Which still elsewliere may rouse a brighter 
spring- 
Death laughs at all you weep for: — look upon 
This hourly dread of all I whose threaten d 
sting 
Turnslife 10 terror, even though in its sheath: 
Mark I how its lipless mouth grins without 
breath ! 

XII. 

Mark ! how it laughs and scorns at all you are ! 

And yet loas what you are : from ear to ear 
It laughs not — there is now no iieshy bar 

Socall'd ; the Antic long hath ceased to Aear, 
BiU still he smiles; and wnetnor near or lar, 

He strips from man that mantle (far more dear 
Than even the tailors), his incarnate skin. 
White, black, or copper — the dead bones will 
gi-in. 

XIII. 

Ajid thus Death laughs, — it is sad meniment, 
But still it is so ; and with such example 

Why should not Life be equally content 
With his superior, in a smale to trample 

Upon the nothings which are daily spent 
Like bubbles on an ocean much less ample 

Than the eternal deluge, which devours 

Suns as rays — worlds like atoms — year's like 
hours ? 



' To be, or not to be? that is the question," 
Says Shakspeare, who just now is much in 
fashion. 

I am neither Alexander nor Hephsestion, 
Noreverhadfor fl&s<rac'< fame much passion ; 

But would much rather have a soimd dige^^lion 
Than Buonaparte's cancer : — could I dash on 

Tij rough fifty victories to shame or fame, 

Without a stomach — what were a good name? 



" Oh dura ilia messorum!"— " Oh 
Ye rigid guts of reapers!" I translate 

For the great benefit of those who know 
What indigestion is — that inward fate 



Which makes all Styx through one small livci 

flow. 

A peasant's sweat is worth his lord's estate: 

Let this one toil for bread — that lack for real, 

He who sleeps best may be the most content. 

XVI. 

" To be, or not to be?" — Ere I decide, 
1 should be glad to know that winch is hei>ig 

T is true we speculate both far and wide, 
And deem, because we see, we are all-seeing 

For my part, I'll enlist on neither side. 
Until I see both sides for once agreeing. 

For me, I sometimes think that life is death, 

Rather than life a mere affair of breath. 

XVII. 

*' Que scais-je ?" was the motto of Montaigne^ 
As also of the first academicians; 

That all is dubious which man may attain. 
Was one of their most favourite positions. 

There's no such thing as certainty, that's plain 
As any of Mortality's conditions; 

So little do we know what we 're about in 

This world,' doubt if doubt itself be doubting. 

XVIII. 

It is a pleasant voyage perhaps to float, 
Like Pyrrho, on a sea of speculation ; 

But what if caiTying sail capsize the boat ? 
Your wise men don't laiow much of navi 
gallon ; 

And swimming long in the abyss of thought 
Is apt to tire: a calm and shallow station 

Well nigh the shore, where one stoops down 
and gathers 

Some pretty shell, is best for moderate bathens 



" But heaven," as Cassio says, " is above all- 
No more of this, then, — ^let us pray !" Wa 
hjve 

Souls to save, since Eve's slip and Adam's fall, 
Which tumbled all mankind into the gi-ave, 

Bjsides fi.sh, beasts, and birds. " The spar- 
row s fall 
Is special providence," thotigh how it gave 

Offence, we kno\v not; probably it perch'd 

Upon the Uee which Eve so fondly seatvh'd. 

XX. 

Oh ! ye immortal Gods ! what is theogony ? 

Oh ! thou, too, mortal man ! what is philai> 

thropy? [mogony? 

Oh I world, which was and is, what is co» 

Some people have accused me of mis&o 

thropy ; 



436 



DON JUAN. 



And yet I know no more than tiie manogany 
That forms this desk, of what they mean ; 
lykanthropy^^'^ 
I comprehend, for without transformation 
Men hecome wolves on any slight occasion. 

XXT. 

But I, the mildest, meekest of mankind, 
Like Moses, or Melanethon, wlio have ne'er 

Done any thing exceedingly unkind, — [bear 
And (though I could not now and then for- 

Following the bent of body or of mind) 
Have always had a tendency to spare, — 

Why do they call me misanthrope ? Because 

They hate me, not I them : — and here we'll 
pause. 

XXII. 

*T is time we shciWd proceed with our good 
poem, — 

For I maintain (hat it is really good, 
Not only in the body but the proem, 

However little both are understood 
Just now, — but by and by the Truth will 
show 'em 

Herself in her subhmest attitude: 
And till she doth, I fain must be content 
To share her beauty and her banishment 

XXIII. 

Our hero (and, I trust, kind reader! yours — ) 
Was left upon his way to the chief city 

>f the immortal Peter's polish'd boors. 
Who still have shown themselves more brave 
than witty. 

I know its mighty empire now allures 

Much flattery — even Voltaire's, and that's 
a pity. 

For me, I deem an absolute autocrat 

Not a barbarian, but much worse than that. 

XXIV. 

And I will war, at least in words (and — should 

My chance so happen — deeds\ with all who 

war [far most rude. 

With Thought ; — and of Thougltt's foes by 
Tyi-ants and sycophants have been and are. 

I know not who may conquer: if I could 
Have such a prescience, it should be no bar 

To this my plain, sv^^orn, downright detestation 

Of every despotism in everv nation. 

XXV 

It is not that I adulate the people : 

Without mc, there arc demagogues enough. 

And infidels, to pull down every steeple. 
And set up in their stead some proper stuff. 

Whether they may sow scepticism to reap hell. 
As is the Christian dogma rather rough, 

I do not know ; — I wish men lo be fi'ee 

As much from mobs as kings — from you as me 



1 



XXVI. 

The consequence is, being of no parr* 

I shall offend all parties : — never mind ! 
My words, at least, <lre more sincere and hearty 

Than if I sought to sail before the wind. 
He who has nought to gain can have small 
art: he 
AVho neither wishes to be bound or bind, 
May still expatiate freely, as will I, 
'Nor give my voice to slavery's jackall cry. 

XXVII. 

TJiat's an appropriate simile, that jackall , — 
I 've heard them in the Ephesian ruins howl 

By night, as do that mercenary pack all, 
Power's base purveyors, who for pickin;r3 
prowl, [alL 

And scent the prey their masters would attack 
However, the poor jackalls are less foul 

(As being the brave lion's keen providers) 

Than human insects, cateiing for spiders. 

XXVIII. 

Raise but an arm ! 't will brush their web away. 

And without that, their poison and their 

claws [sayr— 

Are useless. Mind, good people I what I 
(Or rather peoples) — go on without pause I 

The web of these tarantulas each day 

Increases, till you shall make common cause* 

None, save the Spanish fly and Attic bee, 

As yet are strongly stinging to be free. 

XXIX, 

Don Juan, who had shone in the late slanghtei , 
Was left upon his waj' with the despatch, 

Where blood was talk'd of as we would of 
water; 
And carcasses that lay as thick as thatch 

O'er silenced cities, merely served to flatter 
Fair Cath .rinc's pastime — who look'd on 
the match 

Between these nations as a main of cocks. 

Wherein she liked her own to stand like rocks. 



And there in a kibUka he roll'd on 

(A cursed sort of carriage without spring>, 

Which on rough roads leaVes scarcely a whole 
bone,) 
Pondering on glory, chivalry, and kings, 

And orders, and on all that he had done — 
And wishing that post-horses had the wings 

Of Pegasus, or at the least post-chaises 

Had feathers, when a traveller on deep ways ie 



DON JUAN. 



437 



. . XXXI. 

tit erery jolt— and they were many — still 
He turn'd his eyes upon his little charge, 

As if ho wish'd that she .should fare less ill 
Than he, in those sad highways left at large 

To ruts, and flints, and lovely Nature's skill, 
Who is no paviour, nor admits a barge 

On her canals, where God lakes sea and land, 

Fishery and farm, both into his own hand. 



At least he pays no rent, and has best right 
To be thL; first of what we ue J to call 

" Gentlemen farmers" — a race worn out quite. 
Since lately there have been no rents at all. 

And " gentlemen " are in a piteous plight. 
And " farmers " can't raise Ceres from her 
fall : [thoughts 

She fell with Buonaparte — What strange 

Arise, when we see emperors fall with oats ! 

XXXIII. 

But Juan turn'd his eyes on the sweet child 
Whom he had saved from slaughter — what 
a ti'ophy ! 
Oh! ye who built up monuments, defiled 
With gore, like Nadir Shah, that costive 
sophy. 
Who, after leaving Hindostan a wild, 

And scarce to the Mogul a cup of coffee 
To soothe his woes withal, was slain, the sinner ! 
Because be could no more digest his din 
ner: 1^3 — 

XXXIV. 

Oh ye! or we ! or he ! or she I reflect, 
That otie life saved, especially if young 

Or pretty, is a thir.g to recollect 

Far sweeter than the greenest laurels sprung 

From the manure of human claj^thoughdeck'd 
With all the praises ever said or sung: 

Though hymn'd by every harp, unless within 
our heart joins chorus, Fame is but a din. 

XXXV. 

Oh ! ye gi-eat authors luminous, voluminous ! 
Ye twice ten hundred thousand daily scribes I 
Whose pamphlets, volumes, newspapers, il- 
lumine us ! [bribes, 
Whether you're paid by goveniment in 
To prove the public debt is not consuming us — ■ 
Or, roughly treading on the " courtier's 
kibes," 
With clownish heel, your popular circulation 
Fields you by printing h;ilf the realm's starva 
tion ; — 



XXXVI. 

Oh, ye great authors! — " Apropos des bottes,"— 
I have forgotten what I meant to say. 

As sometimes have been greater sages' lots;— 
'T was something calculated to aJlav 

All wTath in barracks, palaces, or cots : 
Certes it would have been but thrown away 

And that 's one comfort for my lost advice, 

Although no doubt it was beyond all price. 

XXXVII. 

But let it go: — it \vill one day be found 
With other relics of " a former world," 

When this world shall he former, undeiground. 

Thrown topsy-tmwy, twisted, crisp'd, and 

curl'd, [drown'd. 

Baked, fried, or burnt, turn'd inside-out, or 
Like all the worlds before, which have been 
hm-l'd 

First out of, and then back again to chaos, 

The supersti-atum which will overlay us. 

. XXXVIlf.' 

So Cuvier says ; — and then shall come again 
Unto the new creation, rising out 

From our old crash, some mystic, ancient strain 
Of things destroy'd and left in airy doubt ; 

Like to the notions we now entertain 
Of Titans, giants, felloM's of about 

Som. hundred feet in height, not to say mile», 

And mammoths, and your winged crocodiles. 

XXXIX. 

Think if then George the Fourth should be 
dug up ! [East 

How the new worldlings of the then new 
Will wonder where such animals could sup ! 

(For they themselves will be but of the least; 
Even worlds miscarry, when too oft they pup, 

And every new creation hath decreased 
In size, from overworking the materiai — 
Men are but maggots of some huge Earth's 
burial.) 

XL. 

How wll — to these young people, just thrust 
out 

From some fresh Paradise, and set to plough 
And dig, and sweat, and turn themselves about 

And plant, and reap, and spin, and grind 
and sow. 
Till all the arts at length are brought about, 

Especially oi' war and taxing — how, 
I say, will these great relics, when they see 'era 
Look like the mocsters of a new museum ? 

XLI. 

But I am apt to grow too metaphysical : 
'* The time is out of joint," — and so am I ; 

I quite forget this poem's merely quiz/.ioal. 
And deviate into matters rather diy. 



138 



DON JUAN. 



; ne'er decide what I shall say, and this I call Who took by turns that difficult oomaiaikl. 

Much too poetical : men should know why Since first her majesty was singly crown'i 

Thev witc and for what end ; but note or text, But they were mostly nervous six-foot leUows, 

I never know the word which will come next. All fit to make a Patagonian jealous. 

XLII. XLVII. 

Juan was none of these, but slight and slim, 
Blushing and beardless ; and yet ne'enhelesf 

There was a something in his turn of limb, 
And still more in his eye, which seenvd to 
express, 

That though he look'd like one of the seraphihi, 
There lurk'd a man beneath the spirit's dress. 

Besides, the empress sometimes liked a boy. 

And had just buried the fair-faced Lanskoi."^ 



So on I ramble, now and then narrating. 
Now pondering: — it is time we should 
narrate. 

I left Don Juan, with his horses baiting — 
Now we '11 get o'er the ground at a great rate. 

I shall not be particular in stating 

His journey, we've so many tours of late: 

Suppose him then at Petersburgh; suppose 

That pleasant capital of painted snows ; 

XLIII. 

appose him in a handsome uniform ; 
A scarlet coat, black facings, a long plume, 
Waving, like sails new shiver'd ir a storm. 

Over a cock'd Ifat in a crowded room, 
And brilliant breeches, bright as a Cairn 
Gonne,H4 
Of yellow casimire we may presume, 
White stockings drawn uncurdled as new milk 
O'er limbs whose symmetry set off the silk ; 

xi.iv. 
Suppose him sword by side, and hat in hand, 
Made up by youth, fame, and an army 
tailor — 
That great enchanter, at whose rod's command 
Beauty springs forth, and Nature's self tiuns 
paler. 
Seeing how Art can make her work more grand 
(When she don't pin men's limbs in like a 
gaoler), — 
Behold him placed as if upon a pillar! He 
Seems Love tum'd a lieutenant of artillery. 



No wonder then that Yermolofi", or Momonoff, 

Or Scherbatofl", or any other ojf 
Or on, might dread her majesty had not rooir 
enough 

Within her bosom (which was not too toughj 
For a new flame; a thought to cast of giooir. 
enough 

Along the aspect, whether smooth or rough 
Of him v/ho, in the language of his station 
Then held that " high official situation." 

XLIX 

O, gentle ladijs 1 should you seek to ki)ov> 
The import of this diplomatic phrase. 

Bid Ireland's Londonderry's Marquess ' '6 show 
His parts of speech ; and in the strange 
displays 

Of that odd string of words, all in a row, 
Which none divine, and every one obeys. 

Perhaps you may pick out some queer iw 
meaning, 

Of that weak wordy harvest the sole gleaning. 



His bandage slipp'd down into a cravat; 

His wings subdued to epaulettes; his quiver 
Shrunk to a scabbard, with his arrows at 

His side as a small sword, but sharp as ever; 
His bow converted into a cock'd hat ; 

But still so like, that Psyche were more 
clever [stupid). 

Than some wives (who make blunders no less 
ff she had not mistaken him for Capid. 

XLVI. 

The courtiers stared, the ladies whisper'd, and 
The empress smiled : the reigning favourite 
f'own'd — 
( quite forget which of them M'as in hand 
/ust then; as they are rather numerous' 
found, ■ 



I think I can explain myself without 
That sad inexplicable beast of prey — 

That Sphinx, whose words would ever be a 
doubt. 
Did not his deeds unriddle them each day— ■ 

That monstrous hieroglyphic — that long spoui 
Of blood and water, leaden Castlereagh! 

And here I must an anecdote relate. 

But luckily of no great length or weighL 

LI. 

An English lady ask'd of an Italian, 
What were the actual and official dutie.'« 

Of the strange thing, some women set a value 

on, [ties, 

Which hovers oft about some married be»i» 



DOIsr JIJAN. 



439 



Callt!(i "Cavalier servente?" a Pygmalion 

Whose statues warm (I fear, alas ! too true 

'tis) [them, 

Beneath his art. The dame, press'd to disclose 

Said — " Lady, I beseech you to suppose them." 



Aud thus I supplicate your supposition. 
And mildest, malroo-like intei-pretation, 

Of the imperial favourite's condition. 

'T was a high place, the highest in the nation 

In fact, if nut. iu rank; and the suspicion 
Of any one's attaining to his station. 

No doubt gave pain, where each new pair of 
shoulders, [holders. 

If rather broad, made stocks rise and their 



Juan, I said, was a most beauteous boy, 
And had retain' d his boyish look beyond 

The usual hirsute seasons which destroy. 
With beards and whiskers, and the like, the 
fond 

Parisian aspect, which upset old Troy 

And founded Doctors' Commons: — I have 
conn'd [quer'd, 

The history of divorces, which, though che- 

Calls Ilion's the first damages on record. 



And Catherine, who loved all things, (save her 
lord, [much, 

Who was gone to his place,) and pass'd for 
Admiring those (by dainty dames abhorr'd) 

Gigantic gentlemen, yet had a touch 
Of sentiment ; and he she most adored 

Was the lamented Lanskoi.who was such 
A lover as had cost her many a tear, 
And yet but made a middling grenadier. 



Oh thou " teterrima causa " of all " belli " — 
Thou gate of life and death — thou nonde- 
script ! 

Whence is our exit and our entrance, — well I 
May pause in pondering how all souls are dipt 

[n thy perennial fountain: — how man/eZ^, I 
Know not, since knowledge saw her branches 
stript 

Of her first fruit; but how he falls and rises 

Since, thou hast settled beyond all sunnises. 

LVI. 

Some call thee " the worst cause of war," but I 
Maintain thou art the best : for after all 

From thee we come, to thee we go, an-d why 
To got at then not batter down a wall, 



Or waste a world ? since no one can deny 
Thou dost replenish worlds both great and 
small : 
With, or without thee, all things at a stand 
Are, or would be, thou sea of life's dry land .' 

LVII. 

Catherine, who was the grand epitome 

Of that great cause of war, or peace, or what 

You please (it causes all the things which be. 
So you maytalce your choice ofthis or that)— 

Catherine, I say, was very glad to see 

The handsome herald, on whose plumage sal 

Victory; and, pausing as she saw him knetl 

With his despatch, forgot to break the seal. 

LVIII 

Then recollecting the whole empress, nor 
Forgetting quite the woman (which com- 
posed [tore 
At least three parts of this great whole), she 

The letter open with an air which posed 
The court, that watch'd each look her visage 
wore, 
Until a royal smile at length disclosed 
Fair weather for the day. Though rather 
spacious, '' [cious. 

Her face was noble, her eyes fine, mouth gra- 

LIX. 

Great joy was hers, or rather joys: the first 
Was a ta'en city, thirty thous'and slain. 

Glory and triumph o'er her aspect burst. 
As an East Indian sunrise on the main. 

These quench'd a moment her ambition's 
thirst — 
So Arab deserts drink in summer's rain . 

In vain ! — As fall the dews on quenchless 
sands, 

Blood only serves to wash Ambition's hands '. 

LX. 

Her next amusement was more fanciful ; 

She smiled at mad Suwarrow's rhymes, who 
threw 
Into a Russian couplet rather dull [slew.U7 

The whole gazette of thousands whom he 
Her third was feminine enough to annul 

The shudder which runs naturally through 
Our veins, wheri things call'd sovereigns think 

it best 
To kill, and generals turn it into jest. 

LXI. 

The two first feelings ran their course complete. 

And lighted first her eye, and then her 

mouth : 

The whole court look'd immediately most sweet, 

Like flttwers well water'd after a 0114 

drouth • — 



440 



DON JUAN. 



ut when on the lieut/jnani at her feet 
Her majesty, who liked to gaze on youth 
Almost as much as on a new despatch, 
Glanced mildly, all the world was on the watch. 

LXII. 

Tliough somewhat large, exuberant, and trucu- 
lent, [a figure 
When u-roih — while pleased, she was as due 
As those who like things rosy, ripe, and suc- 
culent, [vigour. 
"Would wish to look on, while they are in 
She could repay each amatory look you lent 
With interest, and in turn was wont with 
rigour 
To exact of Cupid's bills the full amount . 
At sight, nor would permit you to discount. 



With her the latter, though at times convenient. 

Was not so necessary ; for they tell 
That she was handsome, and though fierce 
look'd lenient. 
And always used her favourites too well. 
If once beyond her boudoir's precincts in ye 
went, 
Your " fortune" was in a fair way " to swell 
A man " (as Giles says); for though she would 

widow all 
Nations, she liked man as an individual. 

LXIV. 

What a strange thing is man ! and what a 
stranger 

Is woman ! What a whirlwind is her head, 
And what a whirlpool full of depth and danger 

Is all the rest about her ! Whether wed. 
Or widow, maid, or mother, she can change her 

Mind like the wind: whatever she has said 
Or done, is light to what she'll say or do; — 
The oldest thing on record, and yet new ! 



'Tis very true the hill seem'd rather his^h. 

For a lieutenant to climb up; but skill 
Sroooth'd even the Simplon's steep, and l-y 
God's blessing, [kissing." 

With youth and health all kisses are " heaven- 



Her majesty look'd down, the youthlook'd up— > 
And so they fell in love ; — she with his face. 

His grace, his God-knows- what : for Cupid • 
cup 
With the first draught intoxicates apace, 

A quintessential laudanum or " black drop," 
Which makes one drunk at once, wi thou 
the base 

Expedient of full bumpers; for the eye 

In love drinks all life's foimtains,(save tears) dry 

LXVIIl. 

He, on the other hand, if not in love, 
Fell into that no less imperious passion, 

Self-love — which, when some sort of thing 
above 
Ourselves, a singer, dancer, much in fashion, 

Or duchess, princess, empress, " deigns to 

pi'ove" [a rash one, 

('Tis Pope's phi-ase) a great longing, though 

For one especial person out of m-any, 

Makes us beUeve ourselves as good as any. 

LXIX. 

Besides, he was of that delighted age 

Which makes all female ages equal — whe« 

We don't much care with whom we maj 
engage, 
As bold as Daniel in the lion's den. 

So that we can our native sun assuage 

In the next ocean, which may flow just then, 

To make a twilight in, just as Sol's heat is 

Quench'd in the lap of the salt sea. or Thetis, 



Oh Catherine ! (for of all inteijections. 

To thee both oh! and ah! belong of right 

In love and war) how odd are the connections 

Of human thoughts, which jostle in their 

flight! rtions: 

Just now yours were cut out in different sec- 

First Ismail's capture caught your fancy" 

quite; [batch: 

Next of new knights, the fresh and glorious 

And thirdly he who brought you the despatch ! 

I.XVI. 

Shakspeare talks of " the herald Mercury 
New lighted on a heaven-kissing hill;" 

And some such visions cross'd her majesty. 
While her young herald knelt before her still. 



And Catherine (we must say thus much for 
Catherine), [thing 

Though bold and bloody, was the kind of 
Whose temporary passion was quite flattering, 

Because each lover look'd a sort of king, 
Made up upon an amatory pattern, 

A royal husband in all save the ring — ■ 
Which, being the damn'dest part of matrimony, 
Seem'd taking out the sting to leave the honey 

LXXI. 

And when you add to Uiis, her womanhood 
In its meridian, her blue eyes or gray — 

(The last, if they have soul, are quite as good, 
Or better, as the best examples say 



DON JUAN. 



441 



Napoleons, Mary's (queen cf Scotland), 

should 
Lend to that colour a transcendent ray ; 
An-i Pallas also sanctions the same hue, 
Too wise to look through optics black or 

blueV— 

LXXII. 

Htfr sweet smile, and her then majestic figure, 
Her plumpness, her imperial condescension, 

Her preference of a boy to men much bigger 
(Fellows whom Messalina's self would 
pension). 

Her prime of life, just now in juicy vigour, 
With other extras, which we need not 
mention, — 

All these, or any one of these, explain 

Enough to make a stripling very vain. 

LXXIII. 

And that's enough, for love is vanity, 
Selfish in its beginning as its end, 

Except where 'tis a mere insanity, [blend 
A maddening spirit which would strive to 

Itself with beauty's frail inanity. 

On which the passion's self seems to depend : 

And hence some heathenish philosophers 

Make love the main-spring of the universe. 

LXXIV. 

Besides Platonic love, besides the love 

Of God, the love of senlimenl, the loving 

Of faithful pairs— (I needs must rhyme with 

dove, [verses moving 

That good old steam-boat which keeps 

Gainst reason — Reason ne'er was hand-and- 

glove [proving 

With rhyme, but always leant less to im- 

The sound than sense) — besides all these 

pretences [name senses ; 

To love, there are those things which words 

LXXV. 

Those movements, those improvements in our 
bodies 

Which make all bodies anxious to get out 
Of their own sand-pits, to mix with a goddess, 

For such all women are at first no doubt. 
How beautiful tha*: moment! and how odd is 

That fever which precedes the languid rout 
Of our sensations 1 What a curious way 
The whole thing is of clothing souls in clay! 

LXXVI. 

The noblest kind of love is love Platonical, 
To end or to begin with ; the next grand 

£s that which may be christen'd love canon- 
ical. 
Because the clergy take the thing in hand; 



The third sort to be noted in oui chronicle 

As flourishing in every Christian land, 
Is, when chaste matrons to their other lies 
Add what may be call'd marriage in disguittk 



Well, we won't analyse — our story must 
Tell for itself: the' sovereign was smitten, 

''uan much fiatter'd by her love, or lust;— 
I cannot stop to alter words once written, 

And the two are so mix'd with human dust, 
That he who names one, both perchanos 
may hit on : 

But in such matters Russia's mighty empress 

Behaved no better than a common sempstress. 

LXXVIII. 

The whole courtmelted into one wide whisper, 
And all lips were applied unto all ears ! 

The elder ladies' wrinkles curl'd much ciisper 
As they beheld ; the younger cast some leers 

On one another, and each lovely lisper 
Smiled as she talk'd the matter o'er ; but 
tears 

Of rivalship rose in each clouded eye 

Of all the standing army who stood by 



All the ambassadors of all the powers 

Inquired, Who was this very new young 
man. 
Who promised to be great in some few hours? 
Which is full soon (though life is but a 
span). 
Already they beheld the silver showers 
Of rubles rain, as fast as specie can, 
Upon his cabinet, besides the presents 
Of several ribands, and some thousand pea- 
sants.118 

LXXX. 

Catherine was generous, — all such ladies are: 
Love, that great opener of the heart and all 

The ways that lead there, be they near or far, 
Above, below, by turnpikes great or small,— 

Love — (though she had a cursed taste for war, 
And was not the best wife, unless we call 

Such Clytemnestra, though perhaps 'tis bettei 

That one should die, than two drag on the 
fetter) — 

LXXXI. 

Love had made Catherine make each lovei's 
fortune, 
Unhke our own half-chaste Elizabeth, 
Whose avarice all disbursements did inipo» 
tune. 
If history, the grand liar, ever saith 



442 



DON JUAN. 



iioi(^".ii& 



The tnith; and though'^ef ter old -Sge 

might shorten, 
Because she put a favourite to death, 
Her vile, ambigiious method of flirtation, 
And stinginess, disgrace her sex and station. 

LXXXIl. 

B It when the levee rose, and all was bustle 
In the dissolving circle, all the nations* 

Arrrbassadors began as'twere to hustle 

R )und the young man with their congriatula- 
tioTis. 

Also the softer silks were heai'd to rustle 
Of gentle dames, among whose recreations 

It is to speculate on handsome faces, 

Especially when such lead to high places. 

LXWIIl. 

Juan, who found himself, he knew not how, 
A general object of attention, made 

His answers with a very graceful bow, 
As if born for the ministerial trade. 

Though modest, on his unembarrass'dbrow 
Nature had written " gentleman." He said 

Little, but to the purpose ; and his manner 

Flung hovering graces o'er him like a banner. 

LXXXIV. 

An order from her majesty consign'd 
Our young lieutenant to the genial care 

Of those in office: all the world look'd kind, 

(As it will look sometimes with the first 

stare, [mind,) 

Which youth would not act ill to keep in 
As also did Miss Protasoff then there, 

Named from her mystic office "I'Eprouveuse," 

A terra inexplicable to the Muse. 

LXXXV. 

With her then, as in humble duty hound, 
Juan retired, — and so will I, until 

My Pegasus shall tire of touching ground. 
'Wehavejust liton a "heaven-kissing hill," 

So lofty that I feel mybrain turn round. 
And all my fancies whirling like a mill ; 

^Thich is a signal to my nerves and brain 

To take a quiet ride in some green lane. 



Won 3iuan. 



CAKTO THE TENTH. 



WtiKN Newton saw an apple fall, he found 
in Jiiat slight staitle from his contempla- 
tion — 



'Tis said (for I'll i.ot answer above grolinj ' 

For any sage's creed f»r calculation) — 
A mode of proving that the earth turn'd roun« 

In a most natural whirl, call'd " gravita:. 
tion;" 
And this is the sole mortal who could grapple, 
Since Adam, with a fall, or with an apple.'** 

Man fell with apples, and with apples rose, 

If this be true ; lor we must deem the mod 
In which Sir Isaac Newton could disclose 

Through the then unpaved stars the tum_ 
pike road, 
A thing to counterbalance human woes: 

For ever since immortal man hath glow'd 
With all kinds of mechanics, and full soon ; 
Steam-engines will conduct him to the mooii' 

III., 
And wherefojc this exordium? — Why, josi 
now, 

In taking up this paltry sheet of paper. 
My bosom underwent a glorious glow, 

Ajid my internal spirit cut a caper: 
And though so much inferior, as I know, 

To those who, by the dint of glass and va 
pour, 
Discover stars, and sail in the wind's eye, 
I wish to do as much by poesy. 

IV. 

In the wind's eve I have sail'd. and sail ; but 
for 
The stars, I own my telescope is dim ; 
But at the least I have shunn'd the common 
shore, [skina 

And leaving land far out of sight, would 
'" he ocean of eternity : the roar 

Of breakers has not daunted my slight, trim, 
But still sea-worthy skiff; and she may float 
Where ships have founder'd, as doth many - 
boat. 

V. 

We left our hei-o, Juan, in the bloom 

Of favouriiism, but not yet in the blush;— 

And far be it from my Muses to presume ■ 
(For I have more than one Mus£ at a push) 

To follow him beyond the drawing-room: 
It is enough that Fortune found him flush 

Of youth, and vigour, beauty, and those thingfi 

Which for an instant clip enjoyment's wings. 

VI. 

But soon they grow again and leave theirnest. 
" Oh !" saith the Psalmist, " that I had a 
dove's 
Pinions to flee away, and be at rest !" 

And who that recollects young year* an^ 
loves, — 



DON JUAN. 



443 



Though hoary now, and with a withering breast, 

And palsied fancy, wliich no longer roves 
Beyond its diinm'd eye's sphere, — but would 
• much rather [lather? 

Sigh hke his son, than cough like his grand- 

VII. 

But sighs subside, and tears (even widows') 
shrink, 
Like Arno in the summer, to a shallow, 
So narrow as to shame their wintry brink, 
Which threatens inundations deep and 
yellow! [You'd think 

Such difference doth a few months make. 
Grief a rich field which never would lie 
fallow ; [boys, 

No more it doth, its ploughs but change their 
Who furrow some new soil to sow for joys. 

VIII. 

But coughs will come when sighs depart — 
and now 

And then before sighs cease ; for oft the one 
Will bring the other, ere the lake-like brow 

Is ruffled by a wrinkle, or the sun 
Of life reach'd ten o'clock: and while aglow, 
•. Hectic and brief as summer's day nigh done, 
O'erspreads the cheek which seems too pure 
for clay, [they !— 

Thousands blaze, love, hope, die, — how happy 

IX. 

But Juan was not meant to die so soon. 

We left him in the focus of such glory 
As may be won by favour of the moon 

Or ladies' fancies — rather transitory 
Perhaps ; but who would scorn the month of 
June, 

Because December, with his breath so hoary, 
Must come ? Much rather should he court the 

ray, 
Tohoard up warmth against a wintry day. 

X 

iJesides, he had some q^ualities which fix 
- Middle-aged ladies even more than young: 
The former know what 's what ; while new- 
Hedged chicks 

Know little more of love than what is sung 
.u rhymes, or dreamt (for fancy will play tricks) 

In visions of those skies from whence Love 
sprung. 
Some reckon women by their suns or j'ears, 
I rather think the moon should date the dears 



And why ? because she 's changeable and 
chaste. 
I know no other reason, whatsoe'er 



Suspicious people, w ho find fau g^ii haste, 
May choose to tax me with : which is not 
fair, 

Nor flattering to " their temper or their taste," 
As my friend Jeffrey writes with such an air 

However, I forgive him, and I trust 

He will forgive himself ; — if not, I must. 

XII. 

Old enemies who have become new friends 
Should so continue — 'tis a point of honour. 

And I know nothing which could make amends 
For a return to hatred : I would shun her 

Like garlic, howsoever she extends 

Her hundred arms and legs, and fain out 
run her [foes— . 

Old flames, new wives, become our bitterest 

Converted Ibes should scorn to join with those. 

XIII 

This were the worst desertion : — renegadoes, 
Even shuffling Southey, that incarnate lie, 

Would scarcely join again the " reforma- 
does," 120 
Whom he forsook to 'ill the laureate's sty ; 

And honest nien from Iceland to Barbadoes, 
Whether in Caledcm or Italy, 

Should not veer round with every breath, noj 
seize 

To pain, the moment when you cease to please. 

XIV. 

The lawyer and the critic but behold 
The baser sides of literature and life, 

And nought remains unseen, but much untold 
By those whoscour those double vales of strife 

While common men grow ignorantlv old. 
The lawyers brief is like the surgeon's knife. 

Dissecting the whole inside of a question, 

And with it all the process of digestion, 

XV. 

A legal broom 's a moral chimney-sweeper. 
And that's the reason he himself 's so dirty. 

The endless sootl^l bt stows a tint far deeper 
Than can be hid by altering his shirt ; he 

Retains the sable stains of the dark creeper, 
At least some twenty-nine do out of ihirt^,, 

In all their habits ; — not so you, I own ; 

As CtEsar wore his robe you wear your gown, 

XVI. 

And all our little feuds, at least all mine. 
Dear Jeffrey, once my most redoubted foe 

(As far as rhyme and criticism combine 
To make such puppets of us things below), 

Are over: Here's a health to "Auld Lang Syne 1' 
I do not know you, and may never know 

Your face — but you have acted on the whole 

Most nobly, and I own it from my soul. 



444 



DON JUAN. 



xvu. 

And when I use the phrase of " Auld Lang 
Syne ! " 

T is not address'd to you— the more 's the pity 
For me, for I would rather take my wine 

With you, than aught (save Scott) in your 

proud city. [whine, 

But somehow, — it may seem a schoolboy's 

And yet I seek not to be grand nor witty, 
But 1 am half a Scot by birth, and bred 
A whole one, and my heart flies to my head, — 

XVIII. 

As "Auld Lang Syne" brings Scotland, one 

and all, [and clear streams, 

Scotch plaids, Scotch snoods, the blue hills. 

The Dee, the Don, Balgounie's brig's black 

All my boy feelings, all my gentler dreams 
Ofwhati//4t!;irfreaw<, clothed in their own pall, 

Like Banquo's ofispring ; — floating past me 
seems 
My childhood in this childishness of mine 
I care not — 't is a glimpse of" Auld Lang Sj-ne." 

XIX. 

And though, as you remember, in a fit 

Of wrath and rhyme, when juvenile and curly, 

J rail'd at Scots to show my wrath and wit, 
Which must be own'd was sensitive and surly, 

Yet 'tis in vain such sallies to peiTnit, 

They cannot quench young feelings fresh 
and early: [blood, 

[ "scofch'd not kill'd " the Scotchman in my 

And love the land of " mountain and of flood." 

XX. 

Don Juan, who was real, or ideal,^ — 

For both are much the same, since what men 
think 

Exists when the once thinkers are less real 
Than what they thought for mind can never 
sink. 

And gaipst the body makes a strong appeal ; 
And yet 't is very puzzling on the brink 

Of what is call'd eternity, to stare. 

And luiow no more of what is here, than there ; — 

XXI. 

Don Juan grew a very polish'd Russian — 
How we won't mention, why we need not say : 

Few youthful minds can stand the strong con- 
cussion 
Of any slight temptation in their way; 

But his just now were spread as is a cushion 
Smooth'dfor a monarch's seat of honour: gay 

Damsels, and dances, revels, ready money. 

Made ice seem paradise, and winter sunny. 



The favour of the empress was agreeable; 

And though the duty wax'd a little hard, 
Young people at his time of T '"e should be able 

To come oif handsomely in that regard. 
He was now growing up like a green tree, abk 

For love, war, or ambition, which reward 
Their luckier votaries, till old age's tedium 
Make some prefer the circulating medium. 



Ahoiitthis time, as might have been antici|)ated, 
Seduced by youth and dangerous examples 

Don Juan grew, 1 fear, a little dissipated ; 
Which is a sad thing, and not only trample* 

On our fresh feelings, but — as being participated 
With all kinds of incorrigible samples 

Of-frail humanity- —must make us selfish. 

And shut our souls up in us like a shell-fisb 



This we pass over. We will also pass 
The usual progress of intrigues between 

Unequal matches, such as are, alas I 

A young lieutenant's with a not old queen. 

But one who is not so youthful as she was 
In all the royalty of sweet seventeen. 

Sovereigns may sway materials, but not matter 

And wrinkles, the d d democrats, won't 

flatter. 



And Death, the sovereign's sovereign, thoagh 
the great 

Gracchus of all mortalitv, who levels. 
With his Jgrarian lawsI23^ the high estate 

Of him who feasts, and fights, and roars, anc 

revels, [awai» 

To one small grass-grown patch (which mut« 

Corruption for its crop) with the poor devili 
Who never had a foot of land till now, — 
Death 's a relonner, all men must allow. 



He lived (not Death, but Juan) in a hurry 
Of waste, and haste, and glare, and glow 
and glitter, [fun/,— 

In this gay clime of bear-skins black and 
Which (though I hate to say a thing that 's' 
bitter) [Auny, 

Peep out sometimes, when things are in a 
Through all the " purple and fine lii.en,* 
fitter 
For Babylon's than Russia's royal harlot— 
And neutralise her outward show of scaiiti. 



DON JUAN. 



445 



XXVII. 

And this same state we won't describe : we 
would 
Perhaps frora hearsay, or from recollection ; 
But geiting nigh grirn Dante's "obscure wooi," 

That horrid equinox, that hatefid section 
9f human vears, that hall-wiy house, that rudt. 
Hut, whence wise travellers drive with cir- 
cumspection 
Life 's sad post-horses o'er the di-eary frontier, 
or ag?, and looking back to youth, give one 
tear- ; — 

XXVIII. 

C won't describe, -that is, if I can help 
Description ; and I won't reflect — that is, 

If I can stave off thought, which — as a whelp 
Clings to its teat — sticks to me through the 
abyss 

Of this odd labyrinth ; or as the kelp 
Holds by the rock ; or as a lover's kiss 

Drains its first draught of lips : — but, as I said, 

I won't philosophise, and will be read, 

XXIX. 

Juan, instead of courting courts, was courted, — 
A thing which happens rarely: this he owed 

Much to his youth, and much to his reported 
Valour ; much also to the blood he show'd, 

Like a race-horse ; much to each dress he 
sported, 
Which set the beauty off in which he glow'd, 

A.S purple clouds beiringe the sun ; but most 

He owed to an old woman and his post. 



He wrote to Spain : — and all his near relations, 
Perceiving he was in a handsome way 

Of getting on himself, and finding stations 
For cousins also, answer'd the same day. 

Several prepared themselves for emigrations ; 
And eating ices, were o'erheard to say. 

That with the addition of a slight pelisse, 

Madrid's and Moscow's climes were of a piece. 



fiis mother. Donna Inez, finding, too, 

That in the lieu ol' drawing on his banker, 

'tVliere his assets were waxing rather few. 
He had brought his spending to a handsome 
anchor, — 

Replied, " that she was glad to see him through 
those pleasures after which wild youth will 
hanker ; 

is the sole sign of man's being in his senses 

Is, learning t^ reduce his past expenses. 



XXXII 

* She also recommended him to God, 
And no less to God's Son, as well as MoUi«, 

Wai-n'd him against Greek worship, whitii 

looks odd smother 

In Catholic eyes ; but told him, too, to 

Outuard dislike, which don't look well abroad;. 
Infurm'd hmi that he had a little brother 

Born in a second wedlock; and above 

All, praised the empress's maternal love. 

XXXIII. 

' She could not too much give her apinobation 
Unto an empress, who preferr'd young mea 

Whose age, and what was better still, whose 

nation [then): — 

And climate, stopp'd all scandal (now and 

\i home it might have given her some vexation; 
But w here thermometers sunk down to ten. 

Or five, or one, or zero, she coukl never 

Believe that virtue thaw'd before the rivei." 

XXXIV. 

Oh for u forty -parson power to chant 
Thy praise, Hypocrisy I Oh for a hymn 

Loud as the virtues thou dosi loudly vaunt, 
Not practise ! Oh for trumps of cherubim 

Or the ear-trumpet of my good old aunt. 
Who, though her spectacles at last grew dim. 

Drew (juiet consolation through its hint, 

When she no more could read the pious print. 

XXXV. 

She was no hypocrite at least, poor soul 
But went to heaven in as smcere a way 

As any body on the elected roll, 

Which portions out upon the judgnient da/ 

Heaven's freeholds, in a sort of doomsday 
scroll, 
Such as the conqueror William did repay 

His knights with, lotting others' properties 

Into some bixly thousand new knights' fees. 

XXXVI. 

I can't complain, whose ancestors are there, 
Erneis, Radulphus — eight-and-forty manors 

If that my memory doth not greatly err) 
"Were their reward for following Billy's 
banners ; [fail 

And though I can't help thinking 'twas scarce 
To strip the Saxons of their hydes 124^ Ijta 
tanners ; 

Yet as they founded churches with the produce 

You '11 deem, no doubt, they put it to a good use. 

XXXVII. 

The gentle Juan flourish'd, though at times 
He felt like other plants call'd sensitive. 

Which shrink from touch, as monai-chs d« 
from rhymes, 
Save such as Sauthey can aifovd to give. 



446 



t>ON JUAN. 



Perhaps he long'd in bitter frosts for climes 

In which the Neva's ice would cease to hve 
Before May-day: perhaps, despite his duty, 
In royalty's vast amis he sigh'd for beauty: 

XXXVIII. 

Perhaps — but, sans perhaps, we need not seek 
For causes young or old: the canker-worm 

Will feed up<m the fairest, freshest cheek. 
As well as further drain the wither'd form: 

Care, like a housekeeper, brings every week 
His bills in, and however we may storm, 

They must be paid : though six days smoothly 
run. 

The seventh will bring blue devils or a dun. 

XXXIX. 

I don't know how it was, but he grew sick: 

The empress was alarm'd, and her physician 
(The same who physick'd Peter) found the tic^ 
■ Of his tierce pulse betoken a condition 
Which augur'd of the dead, however qicicJc 
Itself, and show'd a feverish disposition; 
At which the whole court was extremely 
troubled, [doubled. 

The sovereign shock'd, and all his medicines 

XL. 

Low were the whispers, manifold the nrmours ' 
Some said he had been poison d byPotemkin ; 

Others talk'd learnedly of certain tumours. 
Exhaustion, or disorders of the same kin; 

Some said 'twas a concoction of the humours 
Which with the blood too readily will claim 
kin; 

Others again were ready to maintain, 

•' "T was only the fatigue of last campaign." 

XLI. 

But here is one prescription out of many: 
" Sodae sulphat. 3\i- 3fs- Mannae optim. 

Aq. fervent, f. J ifs. 3ij- t.i"ct. Sennse 

Haustus " (And here the sm-geon came and 
cupp'd him) 

'* R Pulv. Com. gr. iij. Ipecacuanhse " ['cm), 
(With more beside if Juan had not stopp'd 

' Bolus Potassa3 Sulphuret. sumendus, • 

El haustus ter in die capiendus." 

XLII. 

This is the way physicians mend or end us, 
Secundum artem: but although we sneer 

In health — when ill, we call them to attend us. 
Without the least propensity to jeer: 

While that " hiatus maxime deflendus ' 
To be fill'd r.p by spade or mattock's nea" 

Instead of gliding graciously down Lethe, 

We tease mild BailHe, or soft Abernethy. 



XLIII. 

Juan demun'd at 'his first n )tice to 

Quit; and though death had throtten'd OB 

ejection. 
His youth aiul constitution bore him through^ 

And sent the doctor' in a new direction. - 
But still his state wa delicate : the hue 

Of health but flick',' 'd with a faint refleet.ioTJ 
Along his wasted el f ek, and seem'd to graveJ 
The faculty — who fuid that he must travel. .; 

XLIV. 

The climate was too cold, they said, for him, 
Meridian-born, to bloom in. This opinion 

Made the chaste Catherine look a little grim. 
Who did not like at first to lose her minion • 

But when she saw his dazzling eye wax dilh. 
And drooping like an eagle's with cliptpmion, 

She then resolved to send him on a mission^ 

But in a style becoming his condition. 

XJ.V. 1 

There was just then a kind of a discussion, 

A sort of treaty or negotiation. 
Between the British cabinet and Russian, 

Maintain'd with all the due prevarication 
With which great states such things aie apt 
to push on ; 

Something Ht)out the Baltic's navigation, 
Hides, train-oil, tallow, and the rights of Thetis, 
Which Britons deem their " uti pc^sidelis." 

XLVi. :;^ 

So Catherine, who had a handsome way ■ 

Of fitting out her favourites, conferr'd 
This secret charge on Juan, to display 

At once her royal splendour, and reward 
His services. He kiss'd hands the next day. 

Received instructions how to play his card 
Was laden with »\\ kinds of gift? and honoure. 
Which show'd what gieat discernment, waa 
the donor's. 

XLVI I. 

But she was lucky, and luck's all. Your queen* 
Are generally prosperous in reigning; 

Which puzzles us to know what Fortune moaii* 
But to continue : though her years wert 
waning. 

Her climacteric teased her like her teens ; 
And though her dignity brook'd no complain 

ing. 
So much did Juan's setting off distress her. 
She could not find at first a fit successor. 

XLVIII. 

But time, the comforter, will come at last;. 
And four-and-twenty hours, and twice t* • 
number 



DON JUAN, 



u- 



Of randidates requesting to be placed, 

Made Catherine taste next night a quiet 
sliuuber ; — 

Ijfot thai shfc meant to fix again in haste, 
Nor did she find the (inantity encumber, 

But always choosing with deliberation. 

Kept the place open for their emulation. 

XLIX. 

While this high pest of honour's in abeyance, 
• For one or two days, reader, we request 
you'll mount with our young hero the convey- 
ance 

Which wafted him from Petersburgh : the best 
Baiouche, which had the glory to display once 

The fair czarina's autocratic crest, 
When, a new Iphigene, she went to Tauris, 
Was given to her favourite, and now bore hh 

L. 

A bull-dog, and a bullfinch, and an ermine, 
All private favourites of Don Juan ; — for 

'Let deeper sages the true cause detenuine) 
He had a kind of inclination, or 

Weakness, for what most people deem mere 
vermin. 
Live animals : an old maid of threescore 

For cats and birds more penchantne'erdisplay'd, 

Although he was not old, nor even a maid ; — 

LI. 

The animals aforesaid occupied 

Their station : there were valets, secretaries 
In other vehicles ; but at his side 

Sat little Leila, who survived the parries 
He made 'gainst Cossacqne sabres, in the wide 

Slaughter of Ismail. Though my wild Muse 
varies 
Her note, she don't forget the infant girl 
Whom he preserved a pure and living pearl. 

L.. 

Poor little thing ! she was as fair as docile. 
And with that gentle, serious character, 
4s rare in living beings as a fossile 
'' ' Man, 'midst thy mouldy mammoths, " grand 

Cuvierl' 
'in fitted was her ignorance to jostle 
■ With this o'erwhelraing world, where all 

must err • 
1: ut she was yet but ten years old, and therefor 
Was tranquil, though she knew not w'hy or 
wherefore. 

LIII. 

Don- Juan loved her, and she loved him, as 
Nor brother, father, sister, daughter love. 

7 cannot tell exactly w^hat it was ; 

He was not yet quite old enough to prove 



Parental feelings, and the other class. 

Call'd brotherly affection, ould not move 
His bosom,— far he never had a sister : 
Ah ! if he had, how much he would ha»« 
miss'd her I 

LIV. 

And still less was it sensual ; for besides 
That he was not an ancient debauchee, 

(Who like sour fruit, to stir their veins' sd( 
• tides. 
As acids rouse a dormant alkali,) 

Although ('/ ivill happen as our planet guides) 
His youtli was not the chastest that might be. 

There was the purest Platonism at bottom 

Of all his feelings — only he forgot 'era. 

LV. 

Just now there was no peril of temptation ; 

He loved the infant orphan he had saved, 
As patriots (now and then) may love a nation; 

His pride, too, felt that she was not enslaved 
Owing to him ; — as also her salvation 

Through his means and the church's might 
be paved. [serted. 

But one thing 's odd, which here must be in 
The little Turk refused to be converted. 

LVI. 

'T was strange enough she should retain th» 

impression 
Through such a scene of change, and dread, 
and slaughter ; [gression. 

But though three bishops told her the trans- 
She show'd a great dislike to holy water : 
She also had no passion for confession ; 
Perhaps she had nothing to confess : — no 
matter [it — 

Whate'er the cause, the church made little of 
She still held out that Mahomet was a prophet 

LVII. 

In fact, the only Christian she could bear 
Was Juan ; whom she seem'd to have 
selected Iwere. 

In place of what her home and friends once 
He naturally loved what he protected : 

And thus they form'd a rather curious pair, 
A guardian green in years, a ward connected 

In neither clime, time, blood, with her defender; 

And yet this want of ties made theirs mcie 
tender. 

LVIII. 

They joumey'd on through Poland and through 

Warsaw, 

Famous for mines of salt and yokes of iron: 

Through Courland also, which that* famous 

farce saw ["Biron."»2i 

Which gave her dukesthe graceless name of 



448 



DON JUAN. 



T is the same landscape which the modem 

Mars saw, [the sh-en ! 

Who march' d to Moscow, led by Fame, 

To lose by one month's frost some twenty years 

Of conquest, and his guard of grenadiers. 

LIX. 

Let this not seem an anti-climax : — " Oh ! 

My guard ! my old guard ! "126 exclaim'd 
that god of clay. 
Think of the Thunderers falling down below 

Car3tid-artery-cuttiiig Castlereagh ! 
Alas ! that glory should be chill'd by snow ! 

But should we wish to warm us on our way 
Through Poland, there is Kosciu.slvo's name 
Might scatter fire throu ghice, lilce Hecla's 
flame. 



Senates and sages have condemn d its use- 
But to .deny the mob a cordial, which is 
Too often all the clothing, meat, or fuel. 
Good government has left them, seems but 
cruel. 

LXIV. 

Here he embark'd, and with a flowing sail - 
Went bounding for the island of the fr 

Towards which the impatient whid blew ha 
a gale ; [the se 

High dash'd the spray, the bows dipp'd in 

And sea-sick passengers turn'd somewhat pale; 
But Juan, season'd. as he well might be, 

By former voyages, stood to watch the skiffs 

Which pass' d, or catch the first glimpse of the 
cliffs. 



From Poland, they came on through Prussia 
Proper, 

And Konigsberg ♦he capital, whose vaunt. 
Besides some veins of iron, lead, or copper, 

Has latelj been the great Professor Kant.l2. 
Juan, who cared not a tobacco-stopper 

About philosophy, pursued his jaunt 
To Germany, whose somewhat lardy millions 
Have princes who spur more than their pos- 
tilions, 

LXI. 

And thence through Berlin, Dresden, and the 
like. 

Until he reach'd the castellated Rhine :— 
\e glorious Gothic scenesi how much ye strike 

All phantasies, rot even excepting mine; 
A grey wall, a greei ruin, rusty pike. 

Make my soul pass the equinoctial line 
Between the present and past worlds, and hover 
Upon their airy confine, half-seas over. 

LXII. 

But Juan posted on through Manheim, Bonn, 
Which Drachenfels frowns over like a spectre 

Of the good feumlal times for ever gone. 
On which I have not time just now to lee 
Oire. 

Fiom thence he was drawn onwards to Cologne 
A city which presents to the inspector 

Eleven thousand maidenheads of bone, 

The greatest number flesh hath ever known.128 

LXIII. 

From thence to Holland's Hague and Helvoet- 
sluys, 

That water-land of Dutchmen and of ditches, 
Where juniper expresses its best juice. 

The poor man's sparkling substitute forriches. 



At length they rose, like a white wall along 
The blue sea's border ; and Don Juan felt— 

What even young strangers feel a little strong 
At the first sight of Albion's chalky belt — 

A kind of pride that he should be among 
Those haughty shopkeepers, who sternly 
dealt 

Their goods and edicts out from pole to pole, 

And made the very billows pay them toll. 

LXVI. 

I 've no great cause to love that spot of earth. 
Which holds what might have been the no- 
blest nation ; 

But though I owe it little but my birth, 
I feel a mix'd regret and veneration 

For its decaying fame and foimer worth. 
Seven years (the usual temi of transportation) 

or absence lay one's old resentments level, 

When a man's country 's going to the devil. 

LXVII. 

Alas ! could she but fully, truly, know 

How her great name is now throughout al> 
horr'd ; 
How eager all the earth is for the blow 

Which shall lay bare her bosom to the sword; 

How all the nations deem her their worst foe, 

That worse than worst of foes, the once 

adored 

False friend, who held out freedom to mankind, 

And now would chain them, to the very 

mind : — 

LXVIIl. 

Would she be proud, or boast herself the free 
Who is but first of slaves? The nations «rr 

In prison, — but the gaoler, what is he? 
No less a victim to the bolt and bai. 



.J)ON JUAN. 



449 



fs the poor privilege to turn the key 

Upon ihc captive, freedom ? He s as fui 
From tiiu enjoyment of the earth and air 
Who watches o'er the chain, as they who wear. 

LXIX. 

Dt-n Juan now saw Albion's earliest beauties, 
Tiiy cliflfs, dear Dover ! harbour, and hotel. 

Thy custom-houic, with all its delicate duties. 
Thy waiters running mucks at every beh ; 

Tlij packets, all whose passengers are boo*,ies 
To those who upon laud or water dwell ; 

And lust, not least, to strangers uninstructed, 

Thy long, long bills, whence uotliing is deducted. 

LXX. 

•^uan. though careless, young, and niagnifique, 

And rich in rubles,diamonds,cash, and credit, 
Who did not limit much his bills per week, 

Yet stared at this a little, though he paid it, — 
His Maggior Duomo, a smart, subtle Gi-eek, 

Before him sumrad the awful scroJl and 
read it :) 
But doubtless as the air, though seidom sunny. 
Is free, the respiration 's worth the money. 

i.xxi. 
On with the horses ! Off to Canterbury I 

Tramp, tramp o'er pebble, and splash, splash 
through puddle ; 
Hurrah I how swiftly speeds the post so merry! 

Not like slow Germany, wherein they muddle 
along the road, as if they went to bury 

Their I'are ; and also pause besides, to fuddle, 
With "schnapps" — sad dogs ! whom "Hunds. 

lot," or " Verfiucter," 
Affect no more than lightning a conductor. 

LXXII. 

Now there is nothing gives a man such spirits, 
Leavening his blood as cayenne doth a cuny. 

As going at full speed — no matter where its 
Direction be, so 't is but in a hurry, 

^\nd merely for the sake of its own merits; 
For the less cause there is for all this flurry, 

The greater is the pleasure in arriving 

At the great end of travel — which is driving. 

LXXIII. 

They saw at Canterbury the cathedral ; 

Blade Edward'shelm, 129 and Becket's bloody 
stone,i30 
Were pointed out as usual by the bedral, 

In the same quaint, uninterested tone : — 
There 's glory again for you, gentle reader I Al 

Ends in a rusiy casque and dubious bone, 
Half solved into these sodas or magnesias, 
Whi'ili IbiTO th'it bitter draught, the human 
species. 

BQ 



LXXIV. 

The effect on Juan was of course sublime ; 

H i breathed a thousand Cressys, as he san 
Thai casque, which never stoop 'd except to 'I'ime 

Even the boldChurchman's tomb excited awe 
Who died in the then great attempt to climb 

O'er kings, who 7iov: at least must talk of ]a'» 
Before they butcher. Littie Leila gazed, 
And asked why such a structure had beeurai-»r< 

LXX v. 

And being told it A\as '* God's nouse," she sak 

He was well lodged, but only wonder' dhoii 
He suffer'd Infidels in his homestead, 

The crael Nazarenes, who had laid low 
His holy temples in the lands which bred 

The true Believers; — and her infant brow 
Was bent with grief that Mahomet should resigi 
A mosque so noble, flung like pearls to swine 

LXxvl, 
On . on ! through meadows, managed like » 
garden, 

A paradise of hops and high production ; 
For after years of travel by a bard in 

Countries of greater heat, but lesser suction 
A green field is a sight which makes him pardor 

The absence of that more sublime oonsuuc 
tion ; 
Which mixes up vines, olivei?, precipices, 
Glaciers, volcanos, oranges, and ices. 

LXXVII 

And when I think upon a pot of beer 

But I wont weep ! — and so drive on, postil 
lions 1 

As the smart boys spurr'd fast in their cai-eer, 
Juan admired thesehighwaysoffreemilUons: 

A country in all senses the most dear 

To foreigner or native, save some silly ones 

Who " kick against the pricks " just at tlaii 
juncture. 

And for their pains get only a fresh puncture 

LXX VIII. 

What a delightful thing 's a turnpike road ! 

So smooth, so level, such a mode of shaving 
The earth, as scarce the eagle in the broad 

Air can accomplish, with his wide wingi 
waving. 
Had such been cut iii Phaeton's time, the got 

Had told his son to satisfy his craving 
V\'ith the York mail; — but onward as we-roli 
" Surgit amari aliquid" — the toll I 

LXXIX. 

Alas ! how deeply painfti] is all payment ! 

Take lives, take wives, take aught excep 
men's purses. 
As Machiayel shows those in pm-ple raiment. 

Such is the shortest way to general curse& 

2g 



450 



BON JUAN. 



The}' hate a murderer much less than a claimant 
On thatsweetore which every body nurses. — 
Kill a man's lamily, and he may brook it, 
Butkeepyourhandsoutoi'his breeches' pocket: 

LXXX. 

So said the Florentine : ye monarchs, hearken 
To your instnictor. Juan now was borne, 

Jnst as the day began to wane and darken, 
OVx the high hill, which looks with pride 
or scorn [in 

Toward the great city. — Ye who have a spaik 
Your veins of Cockney spirit, smile or 
mourn 

According as you take things well or ill ; — 

Bold Britons, we are now on Shooter's Hill ! 



The sun went down, the smoke rose up, as 
from 
A half-unquench'd volcano, o'er a space 
Which well beseem'd the " Devil's drawing- 
room," 
As some have qualified that wondrous place; 
But Juan felt, though not approaching home, 
As one who, though he were not of the race, 
Revered the soil, of those true sons the mother, 
Who butcher'd half the earth, and bullied 
t' other.131 

LXXXII 

A mighty mass of brick, and smoke, and 
shipping. 

Dirty and dusky, but as wide as eye 
Could reach, with here and tbere a sail just 
skipping 

In sight, then lost amidst the forestry 
Of masts ; a wilderness of steeples peeping 

On tiptoe through their sea-coal canopy ; 
A huge, dun cupola, like a foolscap crown 
On a fool's head — and there is London Town! 

LXXXIII. 

But Juan saw not this : eachwrefith of smoke 
Appear'd to him but as the magic vapour 

Of some alchyniic furnace, from whence broke 
The wealth of worlds (a wealth of tax and 
paper) : 

1 he gloomy clouds, which o'er it as a yoke 
Arebow'd, and put the sun ottt like a taper, 

Were nothing but the natural atmosphere. 

Extremely wholesome, though but rarely clear. 

LXXXIV. 

He paused — and so will I ; as doth a crew 
Before they give theirbroadside. By andby, 

My gentle countrymen, we will renew 
Our old acquaintance ; and at least I '11 try 



To tell you truths you wil" not take as tni6i 

Because they are so; — a male Mrs. Fry, 

With a soft besom will I sweep your halls 

And brush a web or two from off the walls 

LXXXV. 

Oh Mrs. Fry! Why go to Newgale.^ Why 
Preach to poor rogues? And wherefore 
not begin 

With Carlton, or with other houses ? Tiy 
Your hand at harden'd and imperial sin. 

To mend the people 's an absurdity, 
A jargon, a mere philanthropic din, 

Unless you make their betters better: — Fy! 

I thought you had more religion, Mrs. Fry. 

LXXXVI. 

Teach them the decencies of good threescore; 

Cure^them of tours, hussar and highland 
dresses ; 
Tell them that youth once gone returns ni 
more, [tresses ; 

That hired huzzas redeem no land's dis- 
Tell them Sir WiL.am Curtis is a. bore. 

Too dull even for the dullest of excesses, 
The witless Falstaff of a hoary Hal, 
A fool whose bells have ceased .o ring at alL 

LXXXVII. 

Tell them, though it may be perhaps too late 
On life's worn contine,jaded, bloated, sated 

To set up vain pretences of being great, 
'T is not so to be good ; and be it stated. 

The worthiest kings have ever loved lea^j 

state : [prated 

And tell them Butyouwon't,andIhav€ 

Just now enough; but by and by I'll prattle 

Like Roland's horn in Roncesvalles' battle 



Bon 3iuan. 



CANTO THE ELEVENTH. 



When Bishop Berke.ey said " there was no 
matt,er,"J^2 [sai^ 

And proved it — 't was no matter what b« 
They say his system 'tis in vain to bul.jr, 

Too subtle for the airiest human head; 
And yet who can believe it? I would shatter 

Gladly all matters down to stone or lead. 
Or adamant, to find the world a spiiit. 
And wear my head, denying that I wear it 



DON JUAN, 



45:1 



W\nx a sublime discovery t'was to make the 

Universe universal egotism, 

That all's ideal — all ourselves • I'll stake the 

World [be it what you will) that that's no 

schism. [some take thee, 

Oh Doubt! — if thou be'st Doubt, for which 

But which I doubt extremely — thou sole 

prism [spirit ! 

Of the Truth's rays, spoil not my draught of 

Heaven's brandy, though our brain can hardly 

bear it. 

III. 
For ever and anon comes Indigestion, 

(Not the most " dainty Ariel") and per- 
plexes 
Our soarings with another sort of question : 
And that which after all my spirit vexes, 
Is, that I tind no spot where man can rest 
eye on. 
Without confusion of the sorts and sexes, 
Of beings, stars, and this unriddled wonder, 
The world, which at the worst's a glorious 
blunder — 

IV. 

If it be chance ; or if it be according 

To the Old text, still better : — lest it should 

Turn out so, we'll say nothing 'gainst the 
wording, 
As several people think such hazards rude. 

They're right; our days are too brief for 
uflbrding 
Space to dispute what no one ever could 

Decide, and every body one day will 

Know very clearly — or at least lie still. 

T. 

And therefore wnll ] leave off metaphysical 
Discussion, which is neither here nor there: 

If I agree that what is, is ; then this I call 
Being quite perspicuous and extremely fair; 

I'he truth is, I' ve grown lately rather phthi- 
sical ; 
I don't know what the reason is — the air 

Perhaps ; but as I suffer from the shocks 

Of illness, I grow much more orthodox 

VI. 

The first attack at once proved the Divinity 
(But hat I never doubted, nor the Devil) , 

The next, the Virgin's mystical virginity; 
The third, the usual Origin of Evil ; 

"n^e fourth at once established the whole 
Trinity 
On so uncontrovertible a level. 

That I devoutly wish'd the three were four, 

*'■'^ piu'poseto believe so much the more. 



To our theme. — The man who has stood on 

the Acropolis, 
And look'd down over Attica ; or he 
Who has sail'd where picturesque Constaa 
tinople is. 
Or seen Timbuctoo, or hath token tea [lis 
In small-eyed China's crockcry-warcmetropc 

Or sat amidst the bricks of Nineveh, 
May not think nuich of London's first ap 
pea ranee — hence ? 

But ask him what he thinks of it a yeat 



Don Juan had got out on Shooter's Plill ; [vity 
Sunset the time, the place the same decli- 

Which looks along that vale of good and ill 
Where London streets ferment in full ac- 
tivity; 

While every thing around was calm and slill, 

Except the creak of wheels, which on their 

pi vet he [hum 

Heard, — and that bee-like, bubbling, busy 

Of cities, that boil over with their scum :— 



I say, Don Juan, wTapt in contemplation, 
Walk'd on behind his carriage, o'er the 
summit. 
And lost in wonder of so great a nation, 
Gave way to't, since he could not over- 
come it. [station; 
" And here," he cried, " is Freedom's chosen 
Here peals the people's voice, nor can en- 
tomb it 
Racks, prisons, inquisitions ; resurrection 
Awaits itj each new meeting or election. 

X. 

" Here are chaste wives, pure lives ; here 
people pay [dear. 

But what they please ; and if that things be 
'Tis only that they ii.ve to throw away 

Their cash, to show how much they have 
a-year. 
Here laws are all inviolate ; none lay [clear. 
Traps for the traveller ; every highway 'a 
Here — " he was interrupted by a knife, 
With — " Damn your eyes ! your money or 
your life!" — 

XI. 

riiese freebom sounds proceeded from four 
pads _ [loiter 

In ambush laid, who had perceived hip 
Behind his carriage ; and, like handy lads. 
Had seized the luckv hour t? recpnuoitre, 
'2Q2 — --^.^v-- 



452 



D0:N^ JUAN. 



In which the heedless gentleman vrho gads 
; Upon the road, unless he prove a fighter. 
May find hiraself within that isle of riches 
ExDosed to lose his life as well as breeches. 



Juan, who did not understand a word 

Of English, save their shibboleth, " God 

damn I" 
And even that he had so rarely heard, 

He sometimes thought 'twas only their 

" Salam," 
Or " God be with you !" — and 'tis not absurd 
, To think so: for half English as I am 
'To my misfortune) never can I say 
^ heard them wish " God with you," save 

ihat way ; — 

XIII. 

Juan yet quickly understood their gesture, 

And being somewhat choleric and sudden, 
Drew forr.h a pocket pistol from his vesture, 

And fired it into one assailant's pudding — 
Who fell, as rolls an ox o'er in his pasture, 

And roar'd out, as he writhed his native 
mud in. 
Unto his nearest follower or henchman. 

Oh Jack! I'mfloor'd by that 'ere bloody 
Frenchman !" 



^n which Jack and his train set ofi" at speed' 
And Juan's suite, late scatler'd at a dis- 
tance, 

Came up. all marvelling at such a deed, 
And offering, as usual, late assistance. 

Juan, who saw the moon's late minion bleed 
As if his veins would pour out his existence, 

Stood calling out for bandages and lint, [flint. 

And wish'd he had been less hasty with his 

XV. 

" Perhaps," thought he, " it is the country's 
wont 

To welcome foreigners in this way : now 
2. recollect some innkeepers who don't 

Differ, except in robbing with a bow, 
la lieu of a bare blade and brazen front 

But what is to be done? I can't allow 
The fellow to lie groaning on the road : 
So take him up ; I '11 help you with the load." 

XVI. 

But ere they could perform this pious duty, 
The dying man cried, " Hold ! I've got m f 
gruel ! [booty ; 

Oh ! for a glass of mao; ' We 've miss'd our 
fj«t rae die where I am!" And as the fuel 



Of life shrunk in his heart, and thick iiad sooty 

The drops fell froin his death- wound, and 

he drew ill 

His breath, — Le from his swelling throat untied 

\ kerchief, crying, " Give Sal that ." — and 

died. 

XVII. 

f he cravat stain'd with bloody drops fell dowo 
Before Don Juan's feet : he could not toll 

Exactly why it was before him thrown, 
Nor what the meaning of the man's farewell 

Poor Tom was once a kiddy '33 upon town 
A thorough varmint, and a real swell, 134 

Full flash 135, all fancy, until fairly diddled, 

His pockets first and then his body riddled 

XVIII. 

Don Juan, having done the best he could 
In all the circumstances of the case. 

As soon as " Crowner's quest" allow'd.pursaed 
His travels to the capital apace ; — 

Esteeming it a little hard he shauld 

In twelve hours' time, and very little space, 

Hav« been obliged to slay a freeborn native 

In self-defence: this made him meditative. 

XIX. 

He from the world had cut off a gi-eat man, 
Who in his time had made heroic bustle. 
Who in a row like Tom could lead the van. 
Booze in the ken 136, or at the spellken 137 
hustle ? [street's ban) 

Who queer a flat? 138 ^Vho (spite of Bow- 
On the high toby-spice 139 so flash the 
muzzle ? [blowing), 141 

Who on a lark 1-10 with black-eyed Sal (his 
So i>rime, so swell l-*^, go nutty 143, and so 
knowing ? 

XX. 

But Tom's no more — and so no more of Tom. 

Heroes must die; and by God's blessing 'tis 
Not long before the most of them go home. 

Hail! Thamis, hail! Upon thy verge it is 
That Juau's chariot, rolling like a drum 

In thunder, holds the way it can't well miss, 
Through Kennington and all the other " tons," 
Which make us wish cm-selves in town at 
once ;— 



Through Groves, so call'd as being void of trees, 

(Like lucus from no light) ; through prospects 

named 

Mount Pleasant, as containing nought to please. 

Nor much to climb; through liulc bo»e* 

framed 



DON JUAN. 



453 



Of bricks, to let the dust in at your ease, 

With " To be let," upon their doors pro- 

ciaim'd ; [dise," 

Through " Rows ' most modestly call'd" Para- 

WhichEvemightquitwithoutmuchsacrifice;— 

XXII. 

Through coaches, drays, choked turnpikes, and 
a whirl 

Of wheels, and roar of voices, and confusion ; 
Here tav^irus wooing to a pint of " purl,"l'l4 

There mails fast flying oli' like a delusion ; 
There barbers' blocks with periwigs in curl 

In windows ; here the lamplighter's infusion 
Slowly diblill'd into the glimmering glass 
(For in those days we had not got to gas — );145 

XXIII. 

Through this, and much, and more, is the ap- 
proach 

Of travellers to mighty Babylon 
Whether they come by horse,or chaise,or coach, 

With slight exceptions, all the ways seem 

one. [croach 

I could say more, but do not choose to en- 

Upon the Guide-book's privilege. The sun 
Had set some time, and night was on the ridge 
Of twilight, as the party cross'd the bridge. 

XXIV. 

That 's rather fine,the gentle sound of Thamis— 

Who vindicates a moment, too, his stream — 

Though hardly heard through multifarious 

■ " damme's." [gleam,- 

The lamps of Westminster's more regular 

The breadth of pavement, and yon shi-ine* 

; where fame is 

.^. A spectral resident — whose pallid beam 
In shape of moonshine hovers o'er the pile- 
Make this a sacred part of Albion's isle. 

XXV, 

The Druids' groves are gone — so much the 
better- [it? — 

Stone-Henge is not — but what the devil is 
But Bedlam still exists with its sage fetter. 

That madmen may not bite you on a visit; 
Jhe Bench too seats or suits full many a debtor; 
The Mansion House too (though some people 
quiz it) 
To me appears a stiff yet grand erection ; 
But then the Abbey 's worth the whole collec- 
tion. 

XXVI. 

The line of lights too up to Channg Cross, 
Pall Mull, and so forth, have a coruscation 

Li-e gold as iii comparison to dross, 

Ma*<:t-'.l with the Continent's illumination. 



Whose cities Wight by no means deigns to gloss 

The French wero not vet a lauip-lighling 

nation, [lantern. 

And wii«u they grew so — on their new-found 

Instead of wicks, they made a wicked man turn. 

XXVII. 

A row of gentlemen along the streets 
Suspended may illuminate mankind. 

As also bonfires made of country seats , 
But the old way is best for tlie purblind: 

The other looks like phosphorus on sheets, 
A sort of ignis fatuus to the mind, 

Which, though 'tis certain to perplex an** 
frighten. 

Must burn more mildly ere it can enlighten. 

XXVIII. 

But London 's so well lit, that if Diogenes 

Could recommence to hunt his honest man 
And found him not amidst the vaiious proge 
nies 
Of this enormous city's spreading spawn, 
T were not for want of lamps to aid his dodg- 
ing his 
Yet undiscover d treasure. What I can, 
I've done to lind the same throughout life'? 

journey. 
But see the world is only one attorney. 

XXIX. 

Over the stones still rattling, up Pall Mall, 

Through crowds and carriages, but waxing 

thinner [spell 

As thunder'd knockers broke the long seal'd 

Of doors 'gainst duns,and to an early diunei 
Admitted a small party as night fell, — 

Don Juan, our young diplomatic sinner, 
Pursued his path, and drove past some hotels 
St. James's Palace and St.James's " Hells." *^t 

XXX. 
They reach'd the hotel : forth stream'd from 
the front door 

A tide 01 well-clad waiters, and around 
The mob stood, and as usual several score 

Of those pedestrian Paphians who abound 
In decent London when the daylight's o'er; 

Commodious but immoral, tl<y are found 
Useiul,like Malthus,in promoting maiTiage — 
But Juan now is stepping from his carriage 

XXXI: 

Into one of the sweetest of hotels. 

Especially for foreigners — and mostly 

For those whom favour or whom fortune swells 
And cannot find a bill's small items costly. 

Thei-e many an envoy either dwelt or dwells 
(The den of many a diplomatic lost lie), 

Until to some conspicuous square they pass. 

And blazon o'er the door their names in brass 



454 



DON JUAN. 



uan, whose was a delicate commission, 

Private, though pubHcly important, bore 
No title to point out with due precision 

The exact aftkir on which he was sent o'er. 
T was merely known, that on a secret mission 

A ibreiguer of rani; had graced our shore, 
Young, handsome, and accomplish'd, who was 
said [head. 

(In whispers) to have turn'd his sovereign's 

xxxtii. 
Some rumour also of some strange adventures 

Had gone before him, and his wars and loves ; 
And as romantic heads are pretty painters. 

And, above all, an Englishv/oman's roves 
InU) the excursive, breaking the indentures 

Of sober reason, wheresoe'er it moves, 
He found himself extremely in the fashion. 
Which serves our thinking people for a passion. 

xxxiv. 

I don't mean that they are passionless, but quite 

The contrary; but then 'tis in the head; 
Vet as the consequences are as bright 

As if they acted with the heart instead, 
What after all can signify the site 

Of ladies' lucubrations ? So they lead 
In safely to the place for which you start, 

What matters if the road be head or heart? 

XXXT. 

Juan presented in the proper place. 

To proper placemen, every Russ credential; 

And was received with all the due grimace, 
By those who govern in the mood potential, 

Wlio, seeing a handsome stripling with smooth 

face, [tial) 

Thought (what in state affairs is most essen- 

That they as easily might do the youngster. 

As hawks may pounce upon a woodland song- 
ster. 

XXXVI. 

They err'd, as aged men will do; but by 
And by we'll talk of that; and if we don't 

'Twill be because our notion is not high 
Of politicians and their double front, 

Who live by lies, yet dare not boldly lie: — 
Now what I love in women is, they won't 

Or can't do otherwise than lie, but do it 

So well, the very truth seems falsehood to it. 

XXXVIt. 

And, after all, what is a lie? 'Tis but 
The truth in masquerade; and I defy 

Historians, heroes, lawyers, priests, to put 
A fact widiout somfe leaven of a lie. 



The very shadow of true Truth wonM slid 

Up annals, revelations, poesy, 
And prophecy — except it should be dated 
Some years before the incidents related. 

XXXVIII. 

Praised be all i'ars and all lies ! Who now 
Can tax my tiild Muse with misanthropy? 

She rings the world's " Te Deum," and her brow 
Blushes for those who will not:— but to sigh 

Is idle; let us like most others bow, 
Kiss hands, feet, any part of niajesty. 

After the good example of " Green Erin," 

Whose shanuock now seems rather worse fot ; 
wearing. 

XXXIX. 

Don .Juan was pre.-^ented, and his dress 
And mien excited general admiration- 

I don't know ^\hich was more admired or 

less; vation, 

One monstrous diamond drew much obser-- 

Which Catherine in a moment of " ivresse" - 
(In love or brandy's fervent fermentation/ 

Bestow'd upon him, as the public learn'd ; 

And, to say truth, it had been fairly earn'd. '- 

XL. 

Besides the ministers and underlings, 

Who must be courteous to the accredited ^, 

Diplomatists of rather wavering kings. 

Until their royal riddle's fully read, [springs 

The very clerks, — those somewhat dirtj 
Of office, or the house of office, fed 

By foul corruption into streams, — even they 

Were haixlly rude enough to earn their pay: 

XLI. 

And insolence no doubt is what they are 
Employ 'd for, since it is tlieir daily labour, 

In the dear offices of peace or war ; 

And should you doubt, pray ask of yoivr 
next neighbour, 

When for a passport, or some other bar 
To freedom, he applied (a grief and a bore;. 

If he found not this spawn of taxborn riches, 

Like lap-dogs, the least civil sons of b s. 

XI.II. 

But Juan was received with much " em- 
pressement :" — 
These phrases of refinement I must borrow 
From our next neighbours' land, where, like 
a chessman, 
There is a move set down for joy or sorrow 
Not only in mere talking, but the press. Man 
In islands is, it seems, downright iUld 
thorough, 
More than on continents — as if the sea [free. 
(See BiUingsgate) made eseu Uie tongiwmoTt 



DO]^ JUAN. 



455 



XLIII 

And yot the British '"Damme" 's rather Attic, 
Your conlinuntal oaths arc but incontinent, 

And turn on things which no aristocratic 
Spirit would name, and therefore even I 
won't anent^'*' 

This snbjcct quote ; as it would be schismatic 

In politesse, and have a sound affronting 

in't: [daring — 

But " Danmie"'s quite ethereal, though too 

Platonic blasphemy, the soul of swearing. 

XLIV, 

For downright rudeness, ye may stay at home ; 

For u-ue or false poHteness (and scarce that 
Now) you may cross the blue deep and white 
foam — 

The first the emblem (rarely though) of what 
Von leave behind, the next of much you come 

To meet. However, 'tis no lime to chat 
On general topics : poets must confine 
Themselves to miity, like this of mine. 

XLV. 

In the great world, — which, being intei-preted, 
Meaneth the west or worst end of a city, 

And about twice two thousand people bred 
By no means to be very wise or w-itty. 

But to sit up while others lie in bed, 

And look down on the universe with pity,— 

Juan, as an inveterate patrician, 

Was well received by persons of condition. 

XLVI. 

He was a bachelor, which is a matter 
Of import both to virgin and to bride, 

The former's hymeneal hopes to flutter; 
And (should she not hold fast by love or 
pride/ 

Tis also of some moment to the latter ; 
A rib 's a thom in a wed gallant's side, 

Requires decorum, and is apt to double 

The horiid sin — and ^\•hat's still worse, the 
trouble. 

XI.VIl. 

But Juan was a bachelor — of arts, [and had 
And parts, and hearts : he danced and sung. 

An iiir as sentimental as Mozart's 

Softest of melodies ; and could be sad 

Ci cheerful, without any " flaws or starts," 
Jf.st at the proper time; and though a lad. 

Had seen the world — which is a curious sight, 

\nd very much unlike what people write. 

XLVIII. 

Fair virgins blush'd upon him ; wedded dames 
Bloon;'d also in less transitory hues ; 

For both commodities dwell by the Thames, 
The painting and the painted ; youth, cejuse, 



Against his heart prefeir'd their usual claims, 

Such i.s no-geutleuuin can quite refuse: 
Daughters admired his dress, and pious 

mothers 
Inquired his income, and if he had brothers. 

XLIX. 

The milliners who furnish " drapery misses" *• 
Throughout the season, upon speculalior 

Of payment ere the honey-moons last kisses 
Have waned into a crescent's coruscation. 

Thought such an opportunity as this is, 
Of a rich foreigner's initiation. 

Not to be ovcrlook'd — and gave such credit. 

That future bridegrooms swore, and sigh'd, 
and paid iu 

L. 

The Blues, that tender tribe, who sigh o'er 
sonnets 

And with the pages of the last Review 
Jjike the interior of their heads or bonnets, 

Advanced in all their aziu-e's highest hue: 
They talk'd bad French or Spanish, and 
upon its 

Late authors ask'd him for a hint or two ; 
And which was softest, Russian orCastilian? 
And whether in his travels he saw Ilion ? 



Juan, who was a little superficial, 

And not in lilei-ature a great Drawcansir, 

Examined by this learned and especial [swer; 
Jury of matrons, scarce knew what to an- 

His duties warlike, loving or oflicial, 
His steady application as a dancer. 

Had kept him from the brink of Hippocrene, 

AVhich now he found was blue instead of 
green. 

LII. 

However, he replied nt hazard, with 

A modest confidence and calm assurance. 

Which lent his learned lucubrations pith. 
And pass'd forargumenls of good endurance. 

That prodigy. Miss Araminta S\nuh 

(Who at sixteen translated " Hercules 
Furens" 

Into as furious English), with her best look. 

Set down his sayings in her common-plaoe 
book. 

LIII. 

Juan knew several languages — as we'l 

He might — and \ rought them up witli sidll, 
in time 

To save his fame with each accomplish'd beUe, 
Who still regietted that he did not rhyme 



4ol] 



DON JUAN. 



There wantefi but this requisite to swell 

His qualities (with them) into sublime : 
Lady Filz-Frisky, and Miss Msevia Mannish, 
Both longVl extremely to be sung in Spanish. 



However, he did pretty well, and was 

Admitted a§ an aspirant to all 
The coteries, and, as in Banquo's glass, 

At great assemblies or in parties small, 
He saw ten thousand living authors pass, 

That being about their average numeral ; 
Also the eigiity " greatest living poets," 
As every paltry magazine can show it's. 

LV. 

In twice five years the " greatest living poet," 
Like to the champion in the fisty ring, 

Is cali'd on to support his claim, or show it, 
Although 'tis an imaginary thing. 

Even I — albeit I'm sure I did not know it, 
Nor sought of foolscap subjects to be king, — 

Was reckon'd a considerable time, 

The grand Napoleon of the realms of rhjone. 

LVI. 

But Juan was my Moscow, and Faliero 
My Leipsic, and my Mount Saint Jean 
seems Cain: 

** La Belle Alliance" of dunces down at zero. 
Now that the Lion's fall'n, may rise again; 

But I will full at least as fell my hero ; 
Nor reign at all, or as a monarch reign ; 

Or to some lonely isle of gaolers go, 

With turncoat Southey for my turnkey Lowe. 



Then there 's my gentle E uphues ; v ho, they »• \ 
Sets up for being a sort of moral me ; 

He '11 find it rather difiicult some day 
To turn out both, or either, it may be. 

Some persons think thatColeridgehalli tfiesway, 
And Wordsworth has supporters, two or three 

And that deep-mouth'd Boeotian " Savag 
Landor " 

Has taken for a swan rogue Southey's gandei 



John Keats, who was kill'd off" by one critique 
Just as he really piomised something gi'eat 

If not intelligible, without Greek 

Contrived to talk about the c^ods of late. 

Much as they mighthave been supposed to speai. 

Poor fellow ! His was an untoward fate ; 
Tis strange the mind, that very fierj' particle. 

Should let itself be snufi'd out by an article. 



The list gi-ows long of live and dead pretenders 
To that which none will gain — or none will 
know 

The conqueror at least ; who ere Time renders 
His last award, will have the long grass grow 

Above his burat-out brain, and sapless cinders 
If I might augur, I should rate but low 

Their chances ; — they're too numerous, like 
the thirty [dirty. 

Mock tjTants, when Rome's annals wax'd but. 



Sir Walter reign'd before me ; Moore and 
Campbeh [holy, 

Before and after ; but now grown more 
The Muses upon Sion's hill must ramble 

With poets almost Clergymen, or wholly ; 
And Pegasus has a psalmodic amble 

Beneath the very Reverend Rowley Powley, 
Who shoes the glorious animal with stilts, 
A modern Ancient Pistol — by the hilts ! 

LVIIl. 

Still he excels that artificial hard [vine 

Labourer in the same vineyard, though the 
Yields him but vinegar for his reward, — 

That neutralised dull Dorus of the Nine ; 
That swarthy Sporus, neither man nor bard I 

That ox of veise, who ploughs for eveiy 
line : — 
Oambyses' roaring Romans beat at least 

The" liowUng Hebrews of Cybele's priest 



This is the literary lower empire, 

Where the praetorian bands take up the 

matter; — [phi re," 

A " dreadful trade," like his who " gathers sara- 

The insolent soldiery to soothe and flatter. 
With the same feelings as you'd coax a vampire. 

Now, were I once at home, and in good satire 
I'd try conclusions with those Janizaries, 
And show them what an intelle 3tual war is 



LXIII. 

I think I know a trick or two, would turn 
Their flanks ; — but it is hardlv worta my 
while. 

With su>jh small gear to give myself concern 
Indeed I 've not the necessary bile ; 

My natural temper's really aught but stern, 
And even my Muse's worst reproof 's asmile; 

And then she drojjs a brief and modern curtsy 

And ghdes away, assmed she never hurts yfl . j. 



DON JUAN. 



457 



My Juan, whom I left in deadly peril 
Amongst live poets ;>nd blue ladies, past 

With some small profit tU'ougb that ^.eld so 

sterile [last, 

Being tired in time, and neither least nor 

Left it before he had been treated very ill; 
And hencefoitli found himself more gaily 
class'd 

Amongst the higher spirits of the day, 

The sun's true son, no vapour, but a ray. 

LXV. 

His morns he pass'd in business — which dis 
sei-ted, 

Was like all business, a laborious nothing 
That leads to lassitude, the most infected 

And CentaurNessusgarb of mortal clothing 
And on our sofas makes us lie dejected, 

And talk in tender horrors of our loathing 
All kinds of toil, save for our country's good — 
Which grows no better, though 'tis time it 
should. 

LXVI. 

His afternoons he pass'd in visits, luncheons 
Lounging, and boxing; and the tAvllight 
hour 

In riding round those vegetable puncheons 
Call'd " Parks," where their is neither fruit 
nor flower 

Enough to gratify a bee's slight munchings; 
But after all it is the only " bower," 

'In Moor's phi-ase) where the fashionable faii 

Can form a slight acquaintance with fresh air. 

XVII. 

7 hen dress, then dinner, then awakes the world ! 

Then glare the lamps, then whirl the wheels, 

then roar [riots hurl'd 

Through street and square fast flashing cha- 

Like harness'd meteors; then along the floor 
Chalk mimics painting ; then festoons are 
twirl'd ; 

Then roll the brazen thunders of the door, 
Which opens to the thousand h'-ippy few 
in earthly paradise of " Or Molu. ' 

LXVIU 

fhere stands the noble hostess, nor shall sink 

Wi'j the three-thousandth curtsy ; thei-e the 

waltz, 

The only dance which teaches girls to think. 

Makes one in love even with its very faults. 

Saloon, room, hall, o'erflow beyond their brink, 

And long the latest of arrivals halts. 
Midst roy;d dukes and dames condemn'd to 

climb, 
Sjtd gain an inch of staircase 9.1 a time. 



LXIX. 

Thrice happy he who, after a survey 

Of the g )od ( ompany, can win a comer, 

A door tha/s in or boudoir out of Uie way. 
Where he may fix himself like small " Jacl 
Horner," 

And let the Babel round run as it mav, 
And look on as a mourner, or a scorner, 

Or yn approver, or a mere spectator 

Yawning a little as the night grows later. 

LXX. 

But this won't do, save by and by ; and he 
Who like Don Juau, takes an active share 

Must steer with care »Jiroug'i all that glittering 

sea [when 

Of gems and plumes and pearls and silks, U. 

He deems it is his proper place to be; 
Dissolving in the waltz to some soft air. 

Or proudlier prancing with mercurial skill, 

WhereS cience marsh als I'orth her own quadrille 

LXXI. 

Or, if he dance not, but hath higher views 
Upon an heiress or his neighbour's bride. 

Let him take care that that which he pursues 
Is not at once too palpably described. 

Full many an eager gentleman oft rues 

His haste : impatience is a blundering guide, 

Amongst a people famous for reflection. 

Who like to play the fool with circumspectioiL 

LXXII. 

But, if you can contrive, get next at supper; 

Or if, forestall'd, get opposite and ogle; — 
Oh, ye ambrosia] moments I always upper 

In mind, a sort of sentimental bogle, 1^9 . 
Which sits for ever upon memory's crupper 

The ghost of vanish'd pleasures once in 
vogue! Ill 
Can tender souls relate the rise and fall 
Of hopes and fears which shake a single ball 

LXXJII. 

But these precaution aiy hints can toucn 
Only the common run, who must pursue, 

And watch, and wai'd; whose plans a Mord too 
much 
Or little overturns; and not the few 

Or many (for the number's sometimes such) 
Whom a good mien, especially if new. 

Or fame, or name, for wit, war, sense, or non 
sense, [since, 

PeiTnits wbate'er they please, or did not long 

Lxxir. 

Our hero, as a hero, young and handsome. 
Noble, rich, celebrated, and a stranger, 

Like other slaves of cotirse must pay his ransom 
Before he can escape fiom so mud dange. 



^% 



DON JUAN. 



8 wi'l environ a conspicuous man. Some 

Talk about poetry, and '■ rack and manger," 

j|nd ugliness, disease, as toil and trouble; — 

I wish tiiey knew tiie life of a yomig noble. 

LXXV. 

They are young, but know not youth — it is 
-. anticipated; 

Handsome but wasted, rich without a son ; 
FLeir vigour in a thousand arms is dissipated ; 

Their cash comes from, their wealth goes to 

a Jew ; 

Both senates see their nightly votes participated 

. Between the tyrant's and the tribunes' crew; 

And having voted, dined, drank, gamed, and 

whored, 
riie family vault receives another lord. 

LXXVI, 

'Where is the w-.rld?' cries Young, at 
eighty — " Where 
The world in which a man was bom ? " Alas . 
Where is the world of eight years past? 'Two* 
there — 
I look for it— 'tis gone, a globe of glass ! 
Crack'd, shiver'd, vanish'd, scarcely gazed on, 
ere 
A silent change dissolves the glittering mass. 
Statesmen, chiefs, orators, queens, patriots, 

kings, 
A.nd dandies, all are gone on the wind 's wings 

LXXVII. 

Where is Napoleon the Grand? God knows: 
\Miere little Castlereagh ? The devil can tell : 

Where Grattan, Curran, Sheridan, all those 
Who bound the bar or senate in their spell? 

Where is the unhappy Queen, with all her woes ? 

And where the Daughter, whom the Isles 

loved well? [Cents? 

Where are those martyr'd saints the Five per 

And where — oh, where the devil are the Rents? 

LXXVIII. 

Where's "Rrummel? Dish'd. Where's Long 

Pole Wellesley? Diddled, 
there's Whilbread ? Romillv ? Where's 
George the Third ? " [riddled.) 

<Vhere is his will ? '50 (That's not so soon un- 
And where is " Fum " the Fouilh, our ' 
"royal bird?" 
'•ore down, it seems, to Scotland to be fiddled 
Unto by Sawney's violin, we have heard : 
Caw me, caw thee " — for six mouUrs hath 

been batching 
5315 scene of royal itch ami loyal scratching 



LAXTX. 

Where is Lord Thif ? And where my Lad} 

That? 
The Honourable Mistresses and Misses? 
Some laid aside like an old Opera hat, 

Married, unmarried, and remarried : (this ia 
An evolution oft perform'd of late.) 

Where are the Dublin shouts — and London 

hisses ? [ W^hcre 

Where are the Grenvilles ? Turn'd as usual 

My friends the Whigs ? Exactly where the* 

were 

LXXX. 

Where are the Lady Carolines and Franceses? 
Divorced or doing thereanent. Ye annals 
So brilliant, where the list of routs and dance* 
is, — 
Thou Morning Post, sole record of the panel* 
Broken in carriages, and all the phantasies 
Of fashion, — say what streams now fill those 
channels? [tinent, 

Some die, some fly, some languish on the Con- 
Because the times have hardly left them om 
tenant. 

I.XXXI. 

Some who once set their caps at cautious dukes. 
Have taken up at length wth youngei 
brothers : 
Some heiresses have bit at sharpers' hooks : 
Sonic maids have been made wives, some 
merely mothers ; 
Others have lost their fresh and fairy looks: 

In short, the list of alterations bothers. 
There's little strange in this, but something 
strange is [changes. 

The unusual quickness of these common 

LXXXII. 

Talk not of seventy years as age ; in seven 
I have seen more changes, down from 
mouarchs to 
The humblest individual under heaven, 
Than might sufiSce a moderate ceijtury 
through. 
I knew that nought was lasting, but now even 
Change grows too changeable, without being 
new: 
Nought's permanent among the human race, 
Except the Whigs not getting into place. 

LXXXIII. 

I have seen Napoleon, who seem'd quite 
Jupiter ; 

Shrink to a Saturn. I have seen a "Duke 
(No matter which) tum politician stupider. 

If that can well be, than his wooden look 



DON JUAM. 



459 



But i is time that I should hoist my " blue 
Peter," [and shook 

And sail for a new theme: — I have seen— 
To see it — ihe king hissM, and then carest; 
But don't pretend to settle v^-hich was best. 

l.XXXIV. 

I \ ave seen the Landholders ■without a rap— 
I have seen Joanna Souihcote — I have seen 

The House of Commons tiirn'd to a tax-trai>— 
I have seen that sad alfairol'the late Queen — 

I have seen crowns worn instead of a fool's 

cap — [mean — 

I have seen a Congi-ess i^' doing all that's 

i have seen some nations like o'erloaded asses, 

Kick off their burthens — meaning the high 
classes. 

^•- LXXXV. 

I ^Hve seen small poets, and gi-eat prosers, and 

*^' interminable — not eternal — speakers-— 

I have seen the funds at war with house and 

land — [squeakers— 

I have seen the country gentlemen turn 

I have seen the people ridden o'er like sand 

By slaves on horseback — I have seen malt 

liquors [Bull — 

Exchanged for "thin potations" by John 

1 have seen John half detect himself a fool. — 

LXXXVI. 

But " carpe diem," Juan, " carpe, carpe !" 

To-morrow sees another race as gay 
And transient, and devour'd by the same harpy. 
" Life s a poor player," — then " play out 
«5nr- the play, 

-V-e villains ! " and above all keep a sharp eye 
Much less on what you do than whatyou say : 
Be hy])ocritical, be cautious, be 
Not what you seem, but alwixys what you see, 

LXXXVII. 

■ But how shall I relate in other cantos 
Of what befell our hero in the land, 

W'lich 'lis the common cry and lie to vaunt as 
A moral country? But I hold my hand — 

For I disdain to write an Atalantis; 
But 't is as well at once to understand 

Toil are not a moral people, and you know it, 

Without the aid of too sincere a poet. 

LXXXVIII. 

>Vhat Juan saw and imderwent shall be 
Mv topic, with of course the due restriction 

Wliich is required by proper courtesy ; 
And recollect the work is only fiction, 

A id that I sing of neither mine nor me, 
Though every scnbe, in some slight turn of 
diction, 

Wiii hiux- allusions never meant. Ne'er doubt 

Thii — when I speak, I don't hint,hatspeak out. 



LXXXIX. 

'WTiether he maiTied with the third or fourth 

OtTspring of some sage husband-hunting 
countess, 
Or whether with some virgin of more worth 

(I ir.ciui in Fortune's matrimonial bounties' 
He took to regularly peopling Earth, 

Of which your lawful awful wedlock foim 
is, — 
Or whether he was taken in for damages. 
For being too excursive in his homages, — 

xc. 
Is yet within the unread events of time. 

Thus far, go forth, thou lay, vvhich I will ba«i> 
A-gainst the same given quantity of rhyme, 

For being as much the subject of attack 
As ever yet was any work sublime, 

By those who love to say that white is blac'' 
So much the better ! — I may stand alone, 
But would not change my fiee thoughts foi . 
throne. 



Bon 3juan. 



CANTO THE TWELFTH. '52 



Of all the .sarbarous middle ages, that 

Which is most barbarous is the middle ag« 
Of man : it is — I really scarce know what ; 

But when we hover between fool and sage. 
And don't know justly -what we would be at— 

A period something like a printed page. 
Black letter upon foolscap, while our hair 
Grows grizzled, and we are not what we 
were ; — 

II. 
Too old for youth, — too votmg, at thirty-five, 

To herd with boys, or hoard with good 
threescore, — 
I wonder people should be left alive ; 

But since they are, that epoch is a bore: 
Love lingers still, although 'twere late to wive; 

And as for other love, the illusion's o'er; 
And money, that most pure imagination, 
Gleams only through the dawn of its creation, 

III. 
O Gold ! Why call we misers miserable? 

Theirs is the pleasure that can never pall ; 

Theirs is the best bower anchor the chain 

cable [small 

Which holds fast other pleasures great aad 



MO 



DON JUAN. 



i'e who but see the saving man at table, 

And scorn his temperate board, as none at all, 
And wonder how the wealthy can be sparing, 
Know not what visions spring from each 
cheese-paring. 



Flash up in ingots from the mine obsoare; 
On him the diamond pours its brillia«i 
blaze: [the diet 

While the mild emerald's beam shades down 
Of other stones, to soothe the miser's eyes. 



Love or lust makes man sick, and wine much 
sicker ; 

Ambition rends, and gaming gains a loss ; 
But making money, slowly first, then quicker 

And adding still a little through each cross 

(Which iclll come over things), beats love or 

liquor, [drost. 

The gamester's counter, or the statesman's 
O Gold ! I still prefer thee unto paper, 
Which makes bank credit like a bark of vapour. 

V. 

Who hold the balance of the world ? Who 
reign 
O'er congress, whether royalist or liberal ? 
Wbo rouse the shirtless patriots of Spain ? 
(That make old Europe's journals squeak 
and gibber all.) 
Who keep the world, both old and new, in pain 
Or pleasure ? Who make politics run glib- 
ber ail ? 
The shade of Buonaparte's noble daiing? — 
Jew Rothschild, and his fellow-Christian, 
Baring. 

VI. 

Those, and the truly liberal Lafitte, 

Are the true lords of Europe. Every loan 

Is not a merely speculative hit, 

But seats a nation or upsets a throne. 

Republics also get involved a bit ; 

Columbia's stock hath holders not unknown 

On 'Change; and even thy silver soil, Peru, 

Must get itself discounted by a Jew. 

VII. 

Why call the miser miserable ? as 
] said before : the frugal life is his 

Which in a saint oi cynic ever was 

The theme, of pi-aise : a hermit 'vould not 
miss 

Canonization for the self-same cd.use 

And wherefore blame gaunt wealth's au- 
sterities ? [trial ; — 

Because, you '11 say, nought cails for such a 

T'nen there's more merit in his self-denial. 



He is your only poet ; — passion, pure, 

Andsprirklingon from heap to heap,disp]ays, 

PotnenKrf, the ore, of winch mere hopes allure, 
Natitms athwart the deep: the golden rays 



The lands on either side are his : the shi^^ 
From Ceylon, Inde, orfarCalhayl53^unload»: 

For him the fragrant produce of each trip ; 
Beneath his cars of Ceres groan the roads, 

And the vine blushes like Aurora's lip; zZ 
His very cellars might be kings' abadesi; 

While he, despising every sensual call. 

Commands — tho intellectual lord of alL :r*. 

X. 

Perhaps he hath great projects in his mind, v 
To build a college, or to found a race, 

A hospital, a church, — and leave behind 
Some dome surmounted by his meagre face. 

Perhaps he fain would liberate mankind 
Even with the very ore which makes them 
ba^e ; 

Perhaps he would be wealthiest of his nation,-.- 

Or revel in the joys of calculation. ' < 

XI. 

But whether all, or each, or none of these 
May be the hoarder's principle of action, 

The fool will call such mania a disease : — 
What is his own ? Go — look at each trans* 
action, [ease 

Wars, revels, loves — do these bring men more 
Than the mere plodding through each 
" vulgar fraction?" 

Or do they benefit mankind ? Lean miser ! 

Let spend thrifts' heirs inquire of yours — who 's 



How beauteous are rouleaus! hov/ charmmg 
chests 
Containing ingots, bags of dollars, coins 
(Not of old victors, all whose heads and crests 
Weigh not the thin ore where their visage 
shines, 
But) of fine unclipt gold, where duily rests 
Some likeness, which the glittering cirque 
confines, 
Of modern, reigning, sterling) stupid stamp:—- 
Yes! ready money is Aladdir s lamp. 

XIII. 

Love rules the camp, the court the grove,— 
for love r.the bard ; 

Is heaven, and heaven is love:"^ — so s:ag| 
Which it were rather difficult to prove 
(A thing with poetry in general hard). 



DON JUAK. 



461 



Perhaps there may be something in " the 

grove," [pared 

At least it rhymes to " love :" but I'm pre- 

To.doubl(no less than landlords ol' their rental) 

ir'co arts" and "camps" be quite so sentimental. 

XIV. 

B It if Love don't, Cask does, and Cash alone: 
Gash rules thegrove.and lellsittoo besides; 

Witl^out cash, camps were thin, and courts were 

none ; [brides." 

Without cash, Malthus tells you — " take no 

So Cash rules Love the ruler, on his own 
Hiyh ground, as virgin Cynthia sways the 
tides : [say honey 

And as for " Heaven being Love," why not 

Is wax? Heaven is not Love, 'tis Matrimony. 

XV. 

Is not all love prohibited whatever, 

Exceptingmarriage? which is love, no doubt, 

After a sort; but somehow people never 
With the same thought the two words have 
help'd out: 

Lovemay exist «;t77i marriage, and s^owZdever, 
And marriage also may exist without; 

But loVe sans bans is both a sin and shame, 

And ought to go by quite another name. 

XVI. 

Vow if the "court," and "camp," and "grove," 
be not 

Recruited all with constant married men. 
Who never coveted their neighbour's lot, 

I say that line 's a lapsus of the pen ; — 
Strange too in my'' buon camerado' Scott, 

So celebrated lor his morals, when 
My Jeffrey held bim up as an exaniple 
To me ; — of which these morals are a sample. 

xvir. 
Well, if I don't succeed, I have succeeded, 

And that 's enough; succeeded in my youth, 
The only time when much success is needed: 

And my success produced what I, in sooth. 

Cared most about; it need not now be 

pleaded — [truth, 

Whate'er it was, 'twas mine ; I "ve paid, in 
or la;e, the penalty of such success, 
Put l;ave not learn'd to wish it any less. 

XVIII. 

T'Ht suit in Chancery, — which some persons 
plead 

In an appeal to the unborn, whom they, 
m the faith of their procrealive creed. 

Baptize posterity, or future clay, — 
To me seems but a dubious kind of reed 

To kan on for support in any way ; 
Smce odds are that posterity will know- 
No more of them, than they of her, 1 trow. 



XIX. 

Why, I 'm posterity — and so are you : 

And whom do we remember.'' Not a hundred 
Were every memory written down all true. 
The tenth or twentieth name would be but 
blunder'd ; 
Even Plutarch's Lives havebutpick'doulafew 
And 'gainst tliose lew your annalists hav» 
thunder'd; 
And Mitford in the nineteenth century 
Gives, with Greek truth, the good old Greek 
the lie. 

XX. 

Good people all, of every dcgiee. 

Ye gentle readers and ungentle writers, 

In this twelfth Canto 'tis my wish to be 
As serious as if I had for inditers 

Malthus and Wilberlorce: — the last set free 
The Negroes, and i« worth a million fighters; 

While Wellington has but enslaved the Whites, 

And Malthus does the thing "gainst which he 
writes. 

XXI. 

I 'm serious — so are all men upon paper ; 

And why should I not form my speculation, 
And hold up to the sun my liule taper? 

Mankind just now seem wrapt in meditation 
On constitutions and steam-b^ats of vapour; 

While sages write against all procreation, 
Unless a man can calculate his means 
Of feeding brats the moment his wile weans. 



That 's noble ! That 's romantic I For my part. 

I think that " Philo-genitiveness " is — 
(Now here 's a word quite alter my own heart. 

Though there's a shortera good deal than this. 
If that politeness set it not apart ; 

B ut I 'm resolved to say nought that 's amiss) — 
I say, melhinks that " Philo-genitiveness "^^ 
Might meet from men a little more forgiveness^ 

XXIII. 

And now to business. — my gentle Juan ! 

Thou art in London — in that pleasant place, 
Where every kind of mischief 's daily brewing, 

Which can await warm youth in its wild race, 
*T is true, tl.at thy career is not a new- one; 

Thou art no novice in the headlong chase 
Of early life ; but this is a new land. 
Which foreigners can never understand. 

XXIV. 

What with a small diversity of climate, 
Of hot or cold, mercurial or sedate, 

I coidd send forth my mandate like a prima 
Upon the rest of Europe's social state ; 



462 



DON JUAN. 



But thou art the most difficult to rhyme at, 
Great Britain, which the Muse may penj- 
traie. 
411 countries have their " Lions," but in thee 
There is but one superb menagerie. 

XXV, 

But I am sick of politics. Begin, 
" Paulo Majora." Juan, undecidec* 

Amongst the paths of being " taken in, 
Above the ice had like a skater glided : 

When tired of play, he Anted without sin 
With some of those fair creatures who have 
prided 

Themselves on innocent tantalisation, 

And hate all vice except its reputation. 

XXVI, 

But these are few, and in the end they make 
Some devilish escapade or stir, which shows 
That even the purest people may mistake 
Their way through virtue's primrose path* 
of snows ; 
And then men stare, as if a new ass spake 
To Balaam, and from tongue to ear o'er- 
flows 
Quicksilver small talk, ending (if you note it) 
With the kind world's amen — " Who would 
Lave thought it?" 

xxvu. 

The little Leila, with her orient eyes, 

And taciturn Asiatic disposition, (surprise, 

(Which saw all western things with small 
To the surprise of people of condition, 

Who think that novelties are butterflies, 
To be pursued as food for inanition,) 

Her charming figure and romantic histoiy 

Became a kind of fashionable mystery 

xxviii. 

The women much divided — as is usual 
Amcngst the sex in little things or great. 

Think not, fair creatures, that I mean to 
abuse you all — 
I have always liked you betterthan I state: 

Since I've grown moral, still I must accuse 
you idl 
Of being apt to talk at a great rate , 

ijid now there was a general sensation 

Amongst you, about Leda's education 

XXIX. 

In one point only were you settled — and 
You had reason ; 'twas that a young child 
of grace, 

As beautiful as her own native land. 
And far away, th? last bud of her nice. 



Howe'er our friend Dc n Juan might cummant 
Himself for five, foor, thret, or two years 
space, 
Would be much better taught beneath the ivt 
Of peeresses whose follies had run dry. 

XXX, 

So first there was a generooi. (..mulation. 
And then there was a general competition 

To undertake the oi-phan's education. 
As Juan was a person of condition, 

It had been an ali'ront on this occasion 
To talk of a subscription or petition , 

But sixteen dowagers, ten unwed she sages. 

Whose tale belongs to " Hallam's Middle 
Ages," 

XXXI. 

And one or two sad, separate wives, Nvithout 
A fruit to bloom upon their withering 
bough — 
Begged to bring up the little girl, and " out,"— 
For that's the phrase that settles all things 
now, 
Meaning a virgin's first blush at a rout, 

And all he; |. i " »s as thoroughbred to show . 
And I assure yua, iluit like virgin honey 
Tastes their first season (mostly if they have 
money). 

XXXII. 

How all the needy honourable misters. 
Each out-at-elbow peer, or desperate dandy, 

The watchful mothers, and the careful sisters, 

(Who, by the by, when clever, are more 

handy [glisters," 

\.t making matches, whtre " 'tis gold that 
Than their /le relatives,) like flies o'er candy 

Buzz round " Uie Fortune" with their busy 
battery, [tery • 

To tmn her head with waltzing and with flat 

XXXIII. 

Each aunt, each cousin, hath her speculation; 
Nay, married dames will now and then 
discover 
Such pure disinterestedness of passion, 

I've known them court an heiress for their 

lover. [lion, 

* Tantaene !" Such the virtues of high sta 

Even in the hopeful Isle, whose outlet's 

" Dover!" [ cares 

■N^Tiile the poor rich wretch, object of these 

Has cause to v\ ish her sire had ^ad male heirs 

XXXIV. 

Some are soon bagg'd, and some reject thre* 
dozen. 
Tis fine to see them scattering refusal* 



DON JUAN. 



463 



And wild dismay o'er every angry cousin 

(Friends of the party), who begin accusals, 

Such MS — " Unless Miss (Blank) meant to 

have chosen 

Poor Frederick, why did she accord perusals 

To his billets f JF/iy "waltz with him? Why, 

I praj, 
Look yes last night, and yet say no to-day ? 

XXXV. 

•• Why?— '^^^ly?— Besides, Fred really was 
attach'd; [without: 

'Twas not her fortune — he has enough 
The time will come she '11 wish that she had 
snatch'd 
So good an opportunity, no doubt:-— 
But the old marchioness some plan had 
hatch'd, 
As; I'll tell A urea at to-morrow's rout: 
And after all poor Frederick may do better — 
Pray did you see her answer to his letter?" 

XXXVI, 

Smart uniforms and sparkling coronets 

Are spurn d in turn, until her turn arrives, 

After male loss of time, and hearts, and bets 
Upon the sweepstakes for substantial wives; 

And when at last the pretty creature gets 
Some gentleman, who fights, or writes, or 
drives. 

It soothes the awkward squad of tho rejected 

To find how very badly she selected. 

XXXVII. 

For sometimes they accept some long pursuer, 
Worn out with importunity ; or fall 

"But here perhaps the instances are fewer) 
To the lot of him who scarce pursued atalL 

A hazy widower turn'd of forty 's sure 
(If 'tis not vain examples to recall) 

Todrawahigh prize: now,howe'erhegot her, I 

See nought more strange in this than t' other 
lottery. 

XXXVIII. 

1, for my pari — (one " modern instance " more, 
"True, 'tis a pity — pity 'tis, 'tis true") 

Was chosen from out an amatoiy score. 
Albeit my years were less discreet than few; 

But though I also hadreform'd before 

Those became one who soon were to be two, 

I ni not gainsay the generous public's voice, 

That the young lady made a monstrous choice. 

XXXIX. 

Oh, pardon my digression — or at least 
Peruse ! 'T is always with a moral end 

That 1 dissert, like grace before a feast : 
For like an aged aunt or tiresome friend, 



A rigid guardian, or a zealous priest 

My Muse by exhortation means to mend 
Ail people, at all times, and in most places, 
Which puts my Pegasus to these grave pace* 

XL. 

But now I 'm going to be immoral ; now 
I mean to show things really as they are, 

Not as they ought to be : for I avow, 

Thattill we see what's what in fact, we're fto 

From much improvement with ttat virtuous 
plough 
Which skims the smface.leaving scarce A sca> 

Upon the black loam long manured by Vice, 

Only to keep its com at the old price.' 

XLI. 

But first of little Leila w^e 11 dispose ; 

For like a day-dawn she was young and pure 
Or like the old comparison of snows, 

Which are more pure than pleasant to be su'-e 
Like many people every body knows, 

Don Juan was delighted to secure 
A goodly guardian for his infant charge, 
Who might not profit much by being at large 

XLII. 

Besides, he had found out he was no tutor 
(I wish that others would find oui the same} : 

And rather wish'd in such things to stand neuter 
For silly wards will bring their guaniiau* 
blame : 

So when he saw each ancient dame a suitor 
To make his httle wild Asiatic lame, 

Consulting " the Society for Vice 

Suppression," Lady Pinchbeck was his choice 

XLIII. 

Olden she was — iyut had been very yonnof: 
Virtuous she was — and had been, I believe 

Although the world has such an evil tongue 
That but my chaster ear will not icceivr 

An echo of a syllable that's wrong: 

In fact, there 's nothing makes me so muti 
gi'ieve. 

As that abominable tittle-tattle, 

Which is the cud eschew'd by human cattl* 



Moreover I've remark'd (and I was once 
A slight observer in a modest way). 

And so may every one except a dunce. 
That ladies in their youth a little gay. 

Besides their knowledge of the world, ani 
sense 
Of the sad consequence of going astray. 

Are wiser in their warnings 'gainst the Troe 

Wiiich the mere passionless can never know. 



464 



DON JUAN. 



While the harsh prude indemnifies her virtue 
By railing at the unknown and envied 
passion, 

Seeking far less to save you than to hurt you, 

Or, what's still worse, to put you out of 

fashion, — [you, 

The kinder veteran ^ith calm words will court 
Entreating you to pause before you dash on; 

Expounding and illustrating the riddle 

Of epic Love's beginning, end, and middle. 

XLVI. 

Now whether it be thus, or that they are 
stricter. 

As better knowing why they should be so, 
I think you'll find from many a family picture. 

That 'daughters of such mothers as may know 
The world by experience rather than by lec- 
ture, [Show 

Turn out much better for the Smithfield 
Of vestals brought into the marriage mart, 
Than those bred up by prudes without a heart 

XI.VII. 

I said that Lady Pinchbeck had been talk'd 
about— [pretty ? 

As who has not, if female, young, and 
But now no more the ghost of Scandal stalk'd 
about ; 
She merely was deem'd amiable and witty 
And several of her bestbon-mots werehawk'd 
about : 
Then she was given to charity and pity, 
A«d pass'd (at least the latter years of life) 
For being a most exemplary wife. 

XLVIII. 

High in high circles, gentle in her own. 
She was the mild reprover of the young. 

Whenever — which means every day — they'd 
shown 
An awkward inclination to go ■wrong. 

The quantity of good she did's unknown, 
Or at the least would lengthen out my song: 

In brief, the little oi-phan of the East 

Had raised an interest in her which increased. 

XLIX. 

;uan, to3,. was a sort of favomite with her, 
Becauss sJie thought him a good heart at 
bottom, 
A little spoil'd, but not so altogether ; [him, 
. Which was a wonder, if you think who got 
And how he had been toss'd, he scarce knew 
whither : 
Though this mightruin others, itdid not him 
At least entirely— for he had seen loo many 
Changes in yoiuh, to be surprised at any. 



And these vicissitudes tell best in yoatL; 

For when they happen at a riper age, 
People are apt to blame the Fates, forsooth. 
And wonder Providence is not more sage. 
Adversity is the first "path to truth: 

He who hath proved war, stoiTQ, oi 
woman's rage, 
Whether his winters be eighteen or eighty, 
Hath won the experience which is deem'd M 
weighty. 

LI. 

How far it profits is another matter. — 

Our hero gladly saw his little chaige [tef 

Safe with a lady, whose last grown-up daugh* 
Being lon^ married, and thus set at large. 

Had left all the accomplishments shetaughthei 
Tobetransmitted,liketheLordMayor'sbarge, 

To the next comer ; or — as it will tell 

More Muse-like — like to Cytherea's shell. 

LII. 

I call such things transmission ; for there is 
A floating balance ot accomplishment. 

Which fonns a pedigree from Miss to Miss, 
According as their minds or backs are bent 

Some waltz ; some draw ; some fathom the abyss 
Of metaphysics ; others are content 

With music ; the most moderate shine as wits j 

While others have a genius tum'd for fits. 

LIII. 

But whether fits, or wits, or harpsichords, 
Theology, fine arts, or finer stays. 

May be the baits for gentlemen or lords 
With regular descent, in these our days, 

The last year to the new transfers its hoards ; 
New vestals claim men's eyes with the same 
praise 

Of "elegant" et catera, in fresh batches — 

All matchless creatures,and yet bent on matches 

LIV. 

But now I will begin my poem. 'T is 
Perhaps a little strange, if not quite new, 

That from the first of Cantos up to this 

I 've not begun what we have to go throoghi 

These first twelve books are merely flourishes 
Preludios, trying just a string or two 

Upon my lyre, or making the pegs sure ; 

And when so, you shall have the overture. 

LV, 

My Muses do not care a pinch of rosin 

A bout wh at' s called success,or not succeeding: 

Such thoughts are quite below the strain thcj 
have chosen ; 
'T is a" great moral lesson" they are reading 



DON JUAN. 



465 



I thoaght, at setting off, about two dozen 

Cantos wonkl do ; but at Apollo's pleading, 
if thiU my Pegasus should not be fiuinder'd^ 
I think to canter gently thvuuyh a hundred. 

Lvi. 
Don Juan saw that niierocosm on stilts, 

Yelcpt the Great World; lor it is the least, 
Although the. highest : but as swords have hilts 
By which their powerol'mischielisiiicreased, 
When man in battle or iu quarrel tilts. 

Thus the low world, north, south, or west, 
or east, 
Must still obey the high — which is their handle, 
Their moon, their sun, their gas, their faithing 
candle. 

LVII. 

He had many friends who had many wives, 
and was 

Well look'd upon by both, to that extent 
Of friendship which you may accept or pass. 

It does nor good nor harm ; being merely 
meant 
To keep the wheels going of the higher class, 

And draw them nightly when a ticket 's sent: 
And what with masquerades, and fetes,and balls, 
For the lii'st season such a life scarce palls. 

LVIII. 

A young unmaivied man, with a good name 
And fortune, has an awkward part to play; 

For good society is but a game, 

" The royal game of Goose," as I may say, 

Where every body has some ocparate aim, 
An end to answer, or a plan to lay — 

The single ladies wishing to be double, 

The married ones to save the virgins trouble. 



1 don't mean this as general, but particular 
Examples may be foimd of such pursuits: 

Though several also keep their perpendicular 
Like poplars, with good principles for roots ; 

Yet many have a method more reticular — 
" Fishers for men," like sirens with soft lutes : 

For talk six times with the same single lady, 

.■liid you may get the wedding dresses ready. 



Perhaps you '11 have a letter from the mother, 
To say her daughter's feelings are trepann'd ; 

I'erhaps you '11 have a visit from the brother,. 
All strut, and stays, and whiskers, to demand 

What" your intenlionsare?" — One way or other 
It seems the virgin's heart expects your hand: 

And between pity for her case and yours, 

Vou '11 add to MaUiiaony's list of cure. 



I 've known a dozen weddings made even th*u 

And some of them high names : I iuivc also 
known 
Young men who — though they bated to discusa 
Pretensions which they never dream'd to 
have shown — 
Yet neither frightcn'd by a femali fuss, 

Nor by mustachios moved, wert let alone, 
And lived, as did the broken-hearted fair, 
In happier plight than if they fonn'd a pair. 



There's also nightly, to the uninitiated, 
A peril — not indeed like love or marriage, 

But not the less for this to be depreciated : 
It is — I meant and mean not to dispoi-age 

The show of virtue even in the vitiated — 
It adds an outward grace unto their carriage — 

But to denounce the amphibious sort of harlot; 

" Couleur de rose," who 's neither white nor 
sciuiet. 

UUII. 

Such isyour cold coquette, who can't say " No," 
And won't say " Yes," and keeps you on 
and oti-ing 

On a lee-shore, till it begins to blow — 

Then sees your heart wreckd, wi.h an inwai'u 
scofhng. 

This works a world of sentimental woe, 

And sends new Werters yearly to their coffin; 

But yet is merely innocent flirtation, 

Not quite adultery, but adulteration. 



" Ye gods, I grow a talker ! " Let us prate. 

The next of uerils, though I place it sternest. 
Is when, without regard to " church or state," 

A wife makes or lakes love in upright earnest. 
Abroad, such things decide few women's fate — 

(Such, early traveller ! is the truth thou 
learnest) — 
But in old England, when a young bride errs. 
Poor thing ! Eve's was a trifling case to hers. 



For 'tis a low, newspaper, humdrum, lawsuit 
Country, where a young couple of the same 
ages 

Can't form a friendship,but the world o'erawes it 
Then there 's the vidgar trick of those d — d 
damages ! 

A verdict — grievous foe to those who cause it !— 
Forms a sad climax to romantic homages : 

Besides those soothing speeches of thepleaden 

And evidences which regale all readers 



31 



-iZG 



DON JUAN 



But they who blunder thus are raw beginners ; 

A Utile genial sprinkling of hypocrisy 
H as saved the lame of thousand splendid sinners, 

The loveliest oligarchs of our gynocracy ; 
You may see such at all the balls aad dinners, 

Among the proudest of our aristocracy, 
So gentle, charming, charitable, chaste — 
And all by having iact as well as taste. 

LXVIl. 

Juan, who did not stand in the predicament 

Of a mere novice, had one safeguard more ; 

For he was sick — no, 'twas not the word sick 

I meant — 

But he had seen so much good love before, 

That he was not in heart so very weak ; — I 

meant 

But thus much, and no sneer against the shore 

Of white cliflFs, white necks, blue eyes, bluer 

stockings, [knockings. 

Tithes, taxes, duns, and doors with double 

LXVIII. 

But coming young from lands and scenes ro- 
mantic, [Passion, 

Where lives, not lawsuits, must be risk'dfor 
And Passion s self must have a spice of frantic, 

Into a country where 't is half a fashion, 
Seem'd to him half commercial, half pedantic, 

Howe'er he might esteem this moral nation; 
Besides (alas 1 his taste— forgive and pity !) 
At tirst he did not ihink the women pretty. 

LXIX. 

[ say at first — for he found out at last, 
But by degrees, that they were fairer far 

Than the more glowing dames whose lot is cast 
Beneath the influence of the eastern star. 

A further proof we should not judge in haste ; 
Yet inexperience could not be his bar 

To taste : — the truth is, if men would confess, 

That novelties j^lease less than they impress. 

LXX. 

Though travelld, I have never had the luck tc 
Trace up those shulJiing negroes, Nile or 
Niger, 

To that impracticable place, Timbuctoo, 
Where Geography finds no one to oblige her 

With such a cbifirt as may be safely stuck to — 
For Europe ploughs in.\fric like" bos piger:" 

But if 1 had been at Timbuctoo, there 

No doubt I should be told that black is fair. 

LXX I. 

It is. 1 will not swear that black is white ; 

But I suspect in fact that white is black, 
A.nd the whole matter rests upon eye-sight. 

Ask a blind man, the best judge. You'll 
attack 



Perhaps this new position — but I 'm right ; 

Or if I 'm wrong, I "11 not be ta'cn aback:-—.,., 
He hath no morn nor night, but all is dark , 
Within; and what seest thou? A dubious spark;,,' 

LXX 1 1. 

But I'm relapsing into metaphysics, iX 

That labyrinth, w hose clue is of the same 

Construction as your cures Ibrhectic pLlhisics 
Those bright moths fluttering round a dyin^ ■■ 
flame; 

And this reflection brings me to plain physics,- 
And to the beauties of a foreign dame. 

Compared with those of our pure pearls of 
price, 

Those polar summers, all sun, and some ice 

LXXIII. 

Or say they are like virtuous mermaids, whose 

Beginnings are fair faces, ends mere fishes; — 
Not that there 's not a quantity of those 

Who have a due respect lor their own wishes. 
Like Russians rushing from hotbaths to snows 

Are they, at bottom virtuous even when 
vicious : 
They warm into a scrape, but keep of course, 

As a reserve, a plunge into remorse. 
LXX IV. 
But this has nought to do with their oulsides. 

I said that Juan did not think them pretty 
At the first blush ; for a fair Briton hides 

Half her attractions — probably from pity— 
And rather calmly into the heart glides, 

Than storms it as a foe would take a city ; 
But once there (if you doubt this, prithee try) 
She keeps it for you like a true ally. 

LXXV. 

She cannot step as does an Arab barb. 
Or Andalusian girl from mass returning. 

Nor wear as gracefully as Gauls her garb. 
Nor in her eye Ausonia's glance is burning; 

Her voice, though sweet, is not so fit to M-arb- 
le those bravuras (which I still am learning 

To like, though I have been seven years in 
Italy, [lily);— 

And have, or had, an ear that served me pret- 

LXXVI. 

She cannot do these things, nor one or two 
Others, in that olT-hand and dashing style 

Which takes so much — to give the devil hsi 
due ; 
Nor is she quite so ready with her smile, 

N^r settles all things in one interview, 

(A thing approved as saving time and 
toil;— [trouble, 

But though the soil may give you time and 

Well cultivated, it will render double. 



DON JUAN, 



467 



LXXVII. 

\nd if in fact she takes to a " grange passion," 
It is a very serious thing indeed : 

Nine times in ten 't is but caprice or fashion, 
Coquetry, or a wish to take llie lead, 

The pride of a mere child with a new sash en, 
Or wish to make a rival's bosom bleed: 

But the tenth instance will be a tornado, 

For there 's no saying what they will or may do. 
LXXVIII. 

The reason s obvious; if there 's an eclat, 
They lose their caste at once, as do the 
Parias ; 

And when the delicacies of the law 

Have flU'd their papers with their comments 
various. 

Society, t'nat china without flaw, [Marius, 
(The hypocrite!) will banish them like 

To sit amidst the ruins of their guilt: 

For Fame's a Carthage not so soon rebuilt. 

* LXXIX. 

Petiiaps this is as it should be; — it is 

A comment on the Gospel's "Sin no more, 

And be thy sins forgiven :" — but upon this 
I leave the saints to settle their own score. 

Abroad, though doubtless tliey do much amiss, 
An erring woman linds an opener door 

For her return to Virtue — as they call 

That lady, who should be at home to all. 

LXXX. 

For me, I leave the matter where I find it, 
, Knowing that such uneasy virtue leads 
People some ten times less in fact lo mind it, 

And care but lor discoveries and not deeds. 
And as for chastity, you '11 never bind it 

By all the laws the strictest lawyer pleads, 
But aggravate the crime you have not pre- 
vented, [repented. 
By rendering desperate those who had else 

LXXXI. 

But Juan was no casuist, nor had ponder 'd 
Upon the moral lessons of mankind: 

Besides, he had not seen of several hundred 
A lady altogether to his mind, 

4 tittle " blase" — 'tis not to be wonder'd 
At, that his heart had got a tougher rind: 

And though not vainer from his past success, 

No doubt his sensibilities were less. 

LXXXII. 

He r^lso had been busy seeing sights — 
The Parliament and all the other houses ; 

Had sat beneath the gallery at nights. 
To hear debates whose thunder roused (not 



The world to gaze upon those northern liglits. 
Which flash'd as far as where the musk-bul 

browses ; 
He had also stood at times behind the throne - 
But Greyl55 was not arrived, and Chaihan 

gone. 156 

LXXXIII. 

He saw, however, at the closing session. 
That noble sight, whenrea% free the nation 

A king in constitutional possession 

Of such a throne as is the proudest stalio.i, 

Though despotsknowitnot — tilltht'progression 
Of freedom shall complete their education. 

'T is not mere splendour makes the show august 

Tc eye or heart — it is the people's trust. 

LXXXIV. 

There, too, he saw (whate'er he may be now) 
A Prince, the prince of princes at the lime, 

With fascination in his very bow, 

And full of promise, as the spring of prime. 

Though royally was written on his brow. 
He had then the grace, too,rare in everj- clime, 

Of being, without alloy of fop or beau, 

A finish'd gentleman from top to toe. 

LXXXV. 

And Juan was received, as hath been said, 
Into the best society : and there 

Occurr'd what often hapjiens. I m afraid. 
However disciplined and (iL4)onnaire:— 

The talent and good humour he display'd. 
Besides the mark'd distinction of his air. 

Exposed him, as was natural, to temptation, 

Even though himself avoided the occasion. 

LXXXVI. 

But what, and where, with whom, and when, 
and why. 

Is not to be put hastily together; 
And as my object is morality 

(Whatever people say), I don't know whether 
I'll leave a single reader's eyelid dry, 

But harrow up his feelings, till ih'cy withei, 
And hew out a huge monument of pathos, 
As Philip's son projiosed to do with .AthosJ, 

LXXXVII. 

Here the twelfth canto of our introduction 

Ends. When the body of the book "s begun, 
You '11 find it of a diiferent construction 
From what some people say 'twill bewhe^ 
done: 
The plan at present's simply in concoction. 

I can't oblige jou, reader, to read on ; 
That's your atTair, not mine: a real spirit 
Should neither court neglect, nor dread to bear 
it. 
2h2 



468 



DON JUAN. 



LXXXVIIl. 

Aind if my thunderbolt not al%vays rattles, 
Remember, reader! you have had before, 

The worst of tempests and the best of battles, 
That e'er were bre\v"d from elements or gore, 

Besides the most sublime of — Heaven knows 
what else: 
An usurer could scarce expect much more— 

But my best canto, save one on astronomy, 

Will turn upon " political economy." 

LXXXIX. 

That is your present theme for popularity . 

Now that the public hedge hath scarce a 
stake. 
It gi-ows an act of patriotic charity, 

To show ihe people the best way to break. 
Mu plan (but I, if but for singularity, 

Reserve it) will be very sure to take. 
Meantime, read all the national-debt sinkers. 
And tell me what you think of our great 
thinkers. 



Bon 3Suan. 



CANTO THE THIRTEENTH. 



I NOW mean to be serious ; — it is time, 

Since laughter now-a-days is deem'd too 
seiious. 
A jest at Vice by Virtue 's call'd a crime, 

And critically held as deleterious : 
Besides, the sad 's a source of the sublime, 

Although when long a little apt to weary us; 
Andthereibre shall my lay soar high and solemn, 
As an old temple dwindled to a column. 

II. 
The Lady Adeline Amundeville 

(T is an old Nonnan name, and to be found 
In pedigrees, by those who wander still 

Along the last fields of that Gothic ground) 
Was high-born, wealthy by her father's will, 

And beauteous, even where beauties most 
abound. 
\a Britain — which of course true patriots find 
The goodliest soil of body and of mind. 

III." 
I'll not gainsay them; it is not my cue ; 

I'll leave them to their taste, no doubt the 
best r 
In eye's an eye, and whether black or blue, 

Is no great matter, so tis in request, 



'T is nonsense to dispute about a hue — 

The kindest may be taken as a test. [maa. 
The fair sex should be always fair; and no 
Till thirty, should perceive there's a plain 
woman. 

IV. 

And after that serene and somewhat dull 
Epoch, that awkward corner turn'd for davi 

More quiet, when our moon 's no more at full. 
We may presume to criticise or praise ; 

Because indifference begins to lull [ways; 
Our passions, and we walk in wisdom's 

Also because the figure and the face 

Hint, that 'lis time to give the younger place. 

V. 

I know that some would fain postpone this era, 
Reluctant as all placemen to resign 

Their post ; but theirs is merely a chimera. 
For they have pass'd life's equinoctial line:. 

But then thdy have their claret and Madeira, 
To irrigate the dryness of decline; 

And county meetings, and the parliament, 

And debt, and what not, for their solace sent. 

VI. 

And is tliere not religion, and reform. 

Peace, war, the taxes, and what's call'd th« 
" Nation?" 

The struggle to be pilots in a storm ? 

The landed and the monied speculation? -.. 

The joys of mutual hate to keep them warm, 
Instead of love, that mere hallucination ? 

Now hatred is by far the longest pleasure ; 

Men love in haste, but they detest at leistire; 

VII. 

Rough Johnson, the great moralist, profcss'd, 
Right honestly, " he liked an honest 
hater !" — 
The only truth that yet has been confest 

Within these latest thousand years orlatei 

Perhaps the fine old fellow spoke in jest: — 

For my part, I am but a mere spectator. 

And gaze where'er the palace or the hovel is,. 

Much in the mode of Goethe's Mephis- 

topheles;'57 

VIII. 
But neither love nor hate in much excess ; 
Though 'twas not once so. If I sneer some 
times. 
It is because I cannot well do less. 

And now and then it also suits my rhymes, 
I should be very willing to redress 

Men's wnmgs, and rather check thaa 
punish crimes. 
Had not Cervantes, in that too tme tale 
Of Quixote, shown h&w all such efforts faiL 



DON JUAN. 



469 



Of all tales lis the saddest — and more sad, 
Because it makes us smile : his hero 's right, 

And slill pursues the right ; — to curb the bad 
His oui y object, and 'gainst odds to tight 

His guerdon • 'tis his virtue makes him mad! 
But his adventures form a sony sight ; — 

A sorrier still is the great moral taught 

By that real epic unto all who have thought. 

X. 

Redressing injury, revenging wrong. 

To aid ihi damsel and destroy the caitiff; 

Opposmg singly the united strong, [tive : — 
From foreign yoke to free the helpless na- 

Alas ! must noblest views, like an old song, 
Be for mere fancy's sport a theme creative, 

A jest, a riddle. Fume tiirough thick and thin 
sought ! 

And Socrates himself but Wisdom's Quixote? 

XI. 

Cervantes smiled Spain's chivalry away; 

A single laugh deniolish'd the right arm 
Of his own country; — seldom since that day 

Has Spain had heroes. While Romance 
could chann, 
The worlil gave ground before herbrightarra^'; 

And therefore have his volumes done such 
harm, 
That all their glory, as a composition, 
Was dearly piurchased by this land's perdition. 

XII 

I 'm " at my okl lunes"— digression, and forget 
The Lady Adeline Amundeville: 

The fair most fatal Juan ever met. 

Although she was not evil nor meant ill ; 

Bu'. Destiny and Passion spread the net 
I Fate is a good excuse for our own will), 

And caught ihcRi ; — what do the} not catch, 
methinks? 

But I 'm not CEdipus, and life "s a Sphinx- 

XIII 

'. tell the tale as it is told, nor dare 

To venture a solution: " Davus sum!" 
And now I will proceed! upon the pair. 

Sweet Adeline, amidst the gay •world's himi, 
Was the Queen-Bee. the glass oi' all that 's fair : 

^'hoso charms made all men speak, and 
women dumb. 
The last's a miracle, and such was reckon 'd. 
And since that time there has notbeen a second. 

XIV. 
Chaste was she, to detraction's desperation, 

And wedded unto one she had loved well — 
A man known in the councils of the nation, 

«'<>;>1, and quite English, imperturbable. 



Though apt to act w^ith fire upon occasion. 
Proud of himself and her: the world coulj 

tell rrnvp— 



leii 

Nought against either, and both seem'd se 
She in her virtue, he in his hauteur. 

XV. 

It chanced some diplomatical relations. 
Arising out of business, often brought 

Himself -iud Juan in their mutual station. 
Into . . ose contact. Though reserved, ntn 
caught [patience. 

By sjjecious seeming, Juan's youih, and 
And talent, on his haughty spirit wrought. 

And form'd a basis of esteem, which ends 

In making men what courtesy calls friends. 

XVI. 

And thus Lord Henry, who was cautious as 
Reserve and pride could make him, and. 
full slow [was 

In judging men — when once his judgment 
Determined, right orwrong,on friend or foe, 

Had all tlie pertinacity pride h.-is, 

Which knows no ebb to its imperious flow 

And loves or hates, disdainirg to be guided. 

Because its own good pleasure hath decided 

XVII. 

His friendships, therefore, and no less aver- 
sions, [but more 
Though oft well founded, which confirm'd 
His prepossessions, like tire laws of Persians 
And Aledes, would ne'er revoke what went 
before. [tertians. 
His feelings had not those sti'ange fits, like 
Of conmum likings, which make some 
deplore [still 
\Miat they should laugh at — the mere ague 
Of men's regard, the fever or the chili. 

XVII I. 

" Tis not in mortals tt) command success : 
But<fo you more, Sempronius — don'i de- 
serve it," 
And take my word, you won't have any less. 
Be wary, watch the lime, and always 
serve it ; [press ; 

Give gently way, when there 's too great « 
And for your conscience, only leain te 
nerve it ; 
For, like a racer, or a boxer training, 
'Twill make, if proved, vast efforts withoiri 
paining. 

XIX. 

Lord Henry also liked to be stiperior, 
As most men do, the little or the great; 

The very lowest find out an inferior. 

At least they think so, to exert their state 



470 



DON JUAK. 



Upon : for there are very few tilings wearier 

Than solitary Pride's oppressive weight, 
Which mortals generously would divide, 
Sy bidding others carry while they ride. 

XX. 

In birth, in rank, in fortune likewise equal, 
O'er Juan he could no distinction claim ; 

In years he had the advantage of time's 

sequel; [same— 

And, as he thought^ in country much the 

Because bold Britons have a tongue and free 
quill. 
At which all modern nations vainly aim ; 

And the Lord Henry was a great debater. 

So that few members kept the house up later. 

XXI. 

These were advantages : and then he thought — 
It was his foible, but by no means sinister — 

That few or none more than himself had caught 

Coiu-t mysteries, having been himself a 

minister : [taught, 

He liked to teach that which he had been 
And greatly shone whenever there had been 
a stir; 

And reconciled all qualities which grace man, 

Always a patriot, and sometimes a placeman. 

XXII. 

He liked the gentle Spaniard for his gravity ; 

He almost honour'd him for his docility, 
Becaase, though young, he acquiesced with 
suavity, 

Or contradicted but with proud humility. 
He knew the worid, and would not see depravity 

In faults which sometimes show the soil's 
fertility. 
If that the weeds o'erlivenot the firstcrop— 
For then they are very difficult to stop. 

XXIII 

And then he talk'd with him abotit Madrid, 
Constantinople, and such distant places; 

Where people always did as they were bid, 
Or did what they should not with foreign 
graces. 

Of coursers always spake they . Henry rid 
Well, like most Englishmen, and loved 
tlie races; 

And .Tuan, like a true-born Andalusian, 

Could back a horse, as despots ride a Russian. 

XXIV. 

And thus acquaintance grew, at noble routs, 
And diplomatic dinners, or at other — 

For Juan stood well, both with Ins and Outs, 
As in freemasonry a 1 igher brother. 



Upon his talent Henry had no doubts j 
His manner show'dhim sprung from a hi^ 
mother ; 
And all men like to show their hospitality 
To him whose bleeding matches with bW 
quality. 

XXV. * 

At Blank-Blank Squaie; — for we will breuj 
no squares, [sorious 

By naming streets: since men are so car- 
And apt to sow an author's wheat with tares, 

Reaping allusions private and inglorious, 
Where none were dreamt of, unto love's affairs, 

Which were, or are, or ai'e to be notorious, 
That therefore do I previously declare, 
Lord Henry's mansion was in Blank-Blank 
Squai-e. 

XXVI. 

Also there bin another pious reason 

For making squares and streets anonymous'j 

Which is, that there is scarce a single season 

Which doth not shake some very splendid 

house [son— 

With some slight heart-quake of domestic ti'ea- 

A topic scandal doth delight to rouse : 
Such I might stumble over unawares. 
Unless I knew the very chastest squares. 

xxvii. 
'Tis true, I might have chosen Piccadilly, 

A place where peccadillos are unknown ; 
But I have motives, whether wise or silly, 

For letting that pure sanctuary alone. 
Therefore I name not squaie, street, place, 
until I [shown. 

Find one where nothing naughty can be 
A vestal shrine of innocence of heart- 

Such are but I have lost the London 

Chart. 

xxvin 
At Henry's mansion then, in Blank-Blan^ 
Square, 
Was Juan a recherche, welcome guest. 
As many other noble scions were ; 

And some who had but talent for their crest; 
Or wealth, which is a passport every where ; 
Or even mere fashion, which indeed 's the 
best 
Recommendation ; and to be well drest 
Will very often supersede the resL 

xxvx. 

And since "there's safety in a multitude 
Of counsellors," as Solomon has said. 

Or some one for him, in some sage, grave 
mood ; — 
Indeed we see the daily proof display *d 



DON JUAN. 



47i 



la Semites, at the bar, in wordy feud, 

Where'er coUective wisilom can parade, 
^Vtiich is liic only cause that we can guess 
•Ji ilritaiu's present wealth and happiness ; — 

XXX, 

But as "there 's safety" grafted in the inimber 
" Of counsellors," for men, — thus for the sex 

A large acquainuince lets not Virtue slumber; 
Or should it shake, the choice will more 
perplex — 

Variety itself will more encumber. 

, 'Midst many rocks we guard more against 
wr-ecks ; [some's 

And thus with women : howsoe'er it shocks 

Self love, there's saielyia acrowd of coxcombs. 

xxxr. 

But Adeline had not the least occasion 

For such a shiel-d, which leaves but little 
merit 

To virtue proper, or good education. 

Her chief resource was in her own high spirit. 

Which judged mankind at. their dueestimation; 
And for coquetry, she disdain'd to wear it : 

Secure of admiration, its impression 

Was faint, as of an every-day possession. 

XXXII, 

To all she was polite without parade ; 

To some she showd attention of that kind 
Which flatters, but is flattery convey'd 

In such a sort as cannot leave behind 
A trace unworthy either wife or maid ;— 

A gentle, genial courtesy of mind. 
To those who uere, or j)ass'd for meritorious, 
Just to console sad glory for being glorious; 

XXXIII. 

Which is in all respects, save now and then, 
A dull and desolate appendage. Gaze 

Upon the shades of those distinguish'd men, 
Who were or are the puppet-shows of praise. 

The praise of persecution. Gaze again 
On the most favour'd ; and amidst the blaze 

Of sunset halos o'er the laurel-brow 'd, 

T'vLit can ye recognise ? — a gilded do 'id. 

XXX : 7, 

There also was ofcour.se in Adeiir. ♦ 

That caim patrician polish in tho- address, 

Which neei can pass the equinoctial line 
Oi' any thing which nature would express ; 

Just as a mandarin finds nothing fine, — 
At least his maimer sufl'ers not to guess. 

That any thing he views can greatly please. 

Perhaps we have borrow 'd this from the Chi 
Dese— 



XXXV. 

Perhaps from Horace : his " Nil admirar" 
Was what he call'd the' Art of Happiness;' 

An art on which the artists greatly vary, 
And have not yet attuin'd to nuichsuc 

However, 'tis expedient to be wary: 
Indilference certes don't prctluce dull 

And rash enihusiasm in good society 

Were notiiing but a moral iaibriely. 

XXXVI. 

But Adeline was not i i id liferent : for [snow 
{Now for a common-place!) beneath th« 

As a volcano holds the lava more 

Within — ei cdtera. Shall I go on? — No 

I hate to hunt down a tired metaphor, 
So let the olten-used volcano go. 

Poor thing ! How frequently, by me and others, 

It hath been stirr'd up till its smoke quite 
smothers. 

XXXVII. 

I '11 have another figure in a trice : — 
^^'hia say you to a bottle of champagne ? 

Frozen into a very vinous ice, [rain, 

Which leaves few drops of that immortal 

Yet in the very centre, past all price, 
About a liquid glas.^ful will remain; 

And this is stronger than the strongest grape 

Could e'er express in its expanded shape : 

XXXVIII. 

'T is the whole spirit brought to a quintessence ; 
And thus the chilliest aspects may concentre 
A hidden nectar under a cold presence. 
And such are many — though I only meant 
her 
From whom I now deduce these moral lessons, 
On which the Muse has always sought tc 
enter. 
And your cold people are beyond all price, 
When once you have broken their confounde 
ice. 

XXXIX. 

But after all they are a North-West Passage 
Unto the glowing India of the soul ; 

And as the good ships sent upon that mew 
Have n;i exactly ascertain'd the Pole 

(Though Parry's eflbrts look a lucky presa 
Thus gentlemen may run upon a shoal; 

For if the Pole s not open, but all frost 

(A chance still), t is a voyage or vessel lost. 

XL. 

And young beginners may as weii commence 
With quiet cruising o'er the ocean woman; 

While those who are not beginners should 

have sense [mon 

Enough tfl make for port, ere time shall sum- 



472 



DON JUAK. 



With his grey signal-flag ; and the past tense, 

The dreary " Fuiinuf " of all things human, 

Must be declined, while life's thin thread "s 

spun out 
Between the gaping heir and gnawing gout 



But heaven must be diverted; its diversion 
Is sonielimes truculent — but never mind : 

The world upon the whole is worth the assertion 
(If but for comfort) that all things are kind : 

And that same devilish doctxine of the Persian, 
Of the two principles, but leaves behind 

As many doubts as any other doctrine 

Hcu ever puzzled Faith withal, or y^ed heria. 

XMI. 

The English winter — ending in July, 

I'o recommence in August — now was dene. 

T is the postilion's paradise: wheels fly; 
Oa roads, east, south, north, west, there ia 
a run. 

But for post-horses who finds sympathy? 
Man's pity "s for himself, or for his son, 

Always premising that said son at college 

Has not contracted much more debt than 
knowledge. 

XLIII. 

The London winter's ended in July— 
Soraetinjes a lilile later. I don't err 

In this: whatever otiier blunders lie 
Upon my shoulders, here I must aver 

My Muse a glass oi' weaiherology ; 
For parliament is our barometer: 

Let radicals its other acts attack, 

Its sessions form our onlv almanack. 



When its quicksilver's down at zero, — -lo! 

Coach, chariot, luggage, baggage, equipage ! 
Wheels whirl from Carlton palace to Soho, 

And happiest they who horses can engage : 
The turnpikes glow with da>t; and Rotten Row 

Sleeps from the ehivulry of this bright age; 
And tradesmen, with long hills and longerfaces, 
Sigh — as the postboys faster on the traces.. 



They anu their bills, " Arcadians both," are left 
To the Greek kalends of another session. 

Alas! to them of ready cash bereft. 

What hope remains.-? Of ho2Je the Ml pos 
session. 

Or generous draft, conceded as a gift, 

Atalongdafe — till they can get a fresh one — 

Hawk'd about at a discount, small or large ; 

AUo the solace of an overcharge. 



But these are trifles Downward Hiesmylca^ 
Nodding beside my lady in his carriage. 

Away ! away! " Fresh horses !" are the word, 
And changed as quickly as hea*ts after mar- 
riage ; [stored ; 

The obsequious landlord hath the change r<? 
The postboys have no reason to disparage 

Their fee : but ere the water'd wheels maj hi» 
hence, 

The ostler pleads too for a reminiscence 

XLVII. 

"T is granted ; and the valet mounts the dickey— 

That gentleman of lords and gentlemen; 
Also my lady's gentlewoman, tricky, 

Trick'd out, but modest more than poet's pen 
Can paint, — " Cosi viaggino i Ricchi ! 158 

(Excuse a foreign slipslop now and then, 
Ifbuttoshow I 'vetraveil'd ; and what 's travel. 
Unless it teaches one to quote and cavil?) 

XLvin. 
The London winter and the country sunmier 

Were well nigh over. 'T is perhaps a pity, 
When nature wears the gown that doth become 
her. 

To lose those best months in a sweaiy city. 
And wait until the nightingale grows dumber, 

Listening debates not very wise or witty, 
Ere patriots theirtrueccyi/r// can remember;— 
But there 's no shooting (save grouse) till Sep- 
tember. 

XI-IX. 
I 've done with my tirade. Theworld was gone; 

The twice two thousand, for whom eartk 
was made, 
Were vanish'd to be what they call alone — 

That is, with thirty servants for parade, 
As many guests, or more ; before whom groap 

As many covers>, duly, daily laid. 
Let none accuse old England's hospitality- 
Its quantity is but condensed to quality.. 

L. 

Lord Henry and the Lady Adelin,, 

Departed like the re^l of their compeers, 

The peerage, to a mansion very fine ; 
The Gothic Babel of a thousand years. 

None llian theinselves coidd boast alongerline 
Where time through heroes and through 
beauties steers ; 

hnA oaks as olden as their pedigree 

Told of their sires, a tomb in every tree 

LI. 

A paraffraph in every paper told 

Of then- departure : such is modem fame:, 
'T is pity that it takes no farther hold 

Than an advertisement, or much UiCRScnii 



DON JIJAN. 



473 



When, ere the ink be dry,the sound grows cold. 
TheMorniugPoNt was foremost to proclaim — 
* Dejiartiire, for his country seat, to-day 
Lord H. Amundeville and Lady A. 

LII. 

" We understand the splendid host intends 
To entertain, this autumn, a select 

And numerous party ot'his noble friends ; 
Midst whom we have heard, from sources 
quite correct. 

The Duke of D the shooting season spends, 

With many more by rank and fashion deck'd ; 

Also a foreigner of high condition, 

The envoy of the secret Russian mission," 

LIII. 

And thus we see — who doubts the Morning 
Post ? 
(Whose articles are like the "Thirty-nine," 
Which those most swear to who believe them 
most) — [shine, 

Our gay Russ Spaniard was ordain'd to 
Deck'd by the rays reflected from his host, 
Wiih those who, Pope says, " greatly daring 
dine." — 
'Tis odd, but true, — last war the News abounded 
Moie with these dinners than the kill'd or 
wounded ; — 

LIV. 

As thus : " On Thursday there was a grand 
dinner ; [name 

Present, Lords A. B. C." — Earls, dukes, by 
Announced with no less pomp than victory's 
winner : 
Then underneath, and in the very same 
Cohimn; date, " Falmouth. There has lately 
been here [to fame; 

The Slap-dash regiment, so well known 
Whose loss in the late action we regret : 
The vacancies are fiU'd up — see Gazette.* 

LV. 
To Norman .\bbey whirl'd the noble pair, — 

An old, old monastery once, and now 
Still older mansion, — of a rich and rare 

Mix'dOoihie, such as artists ail allow 
Few specimens yet left us can co;n pare 

Wilhal: it hes perhaps a little low, 
Because the monks preferr'd a hiii behind, 
To shelter their devotion from the wind. 

I.VT. 

It Stood embosom'd in a happy valley, 

Crown 'd by high woocUands, where the 
Druid oak 
Stood like Caractacus in act to rally 

Kis host, with broad anos "gainst the thun*- 
derstroke ; 



And from beneath his boughs were seen to sally 

The dappled foresters — as day awoice. 
The branching stag swept down with all his 

herd, 
To quaff a brook which murmur'd like a bird 

LVII. 

Before the mansion lay a lucid lake. 

Broad as transparent, deep, and fres'lfiij fed 

By a river, which its soften'd way did take 
In currents through the calmer water spread 

Around: the wiUlfowl nestled in the brake 
And sedges, brooding in their liquid bed : 

The woods sloped downwards to its brink, and 
stood 

With their green faces fixed upon the flood. 

LVIII. 

Its outlet dash'd into a deep cascade, 

Sparkling with foam, until again subsiding. 

Its sln'illing echoes — like an infant maile 
Quiet — sank iu^o softer ripples, gliding 

Into a rivulet; and thus allay 'd, 

Pursued its course, now gleaming, and 
now hiding [now blue 

Its windings through the woods ; now cleai* 

According as the skies their shadows threw. 



A glorious remnant of the Gothic pile 

(While yet the church was Rome's) .tood 

half apart [ai lisle. 

In a grand arch, which once screen'd- aany 

These last had disappear'd — a loss t rrt: 

The hrst yet frown'd superbly o'er the oil, 

And kindled feelings in the roughes 'ueart, 

Which mourn'd,. the power of time's •. tcui- 
pest's march, 

In gazing on that venerable arch. 



Within a niche, nigh to its pinnacle, 'stone- 
Twelve saints had once stood sane' fled in 

But these had fallen, not when the fri ,rs fell 
But in the war which struck CharL-3 from 
his throne, 

When each house was a fortalice — a? tell 
The annals of full many a line undone, — 

The gallant cavaliers, who fought in vain 

For those who knew noi to resign or reigr 



But in a higher niche, alone, but crovrn'd, 
The Virgin Mother of the God-born Cii.ild.lSS 

With her Son in her blessed arm^i look'd 

round, »pnl'd; 

Spared by some chance when aL \>e ndowft 



474 



DON JUAN. 



She made the earth befow seem holy ground. 

This may be superstition, weak or wild, 
But cvon the faiulest relics of a slnine 
Of any worship wake some thoughts divine. 

I.XIT. 

A mighty window, hollow in the centre, 
Shoni'of its glass of thousand colourings, 

Through which the deep.;n'd glories once 

could enter, [wings, 

Streaming from off the sun like seraph's 

Now yawns all desolate: now loud, now 

fainter, foft sings 

The gale sweeps through its fretwork, and 

I'he owl his anthem, where the silenced quire 

Lie with their hallelujahs quench'd like fire. 

LXllI. 

But in the noontide of the moon, and when 
The wind is winged from one point of 
heaven. [which then 

There moans a sfange .unearthly sound. 
Is musical — a dying accent driven [again. 

Thioughthe huge arch, which soars and sinks 
•Some deem it but the distant echo given 

Back to the night wind by the waterfall, 

And harmonised by the old choral wall : 

LXIV. 

Others, that some original shape, or form 
Shaped by decay perchance, hath given 
the power [wann 

IThough less than that of Memnon's statue, 
In Egypt's rays, to harp at a fix'd hour) 

To lhi> grey ruin with a voice to charm 
Sad, but serene. It sweeps over tree or tower ; 

The cause I know not, nor cau solve; but such 

The fact.— I've heard it, — once perhaps too 
much. 



Amidst the court a Gothic fountain play'd, 
Symmulrical, but deck'd with carvings 
quaint — 

f,crange faces, like to men in masquerade, 
And here perhaps a monster, there a saint: 

The spring gush'd through grim mouths of 
granite made. 
And sparkled into basins, where it spent 

Its little torrent in a thousand bubbles. 

Like man's vain glo -y , and his vainer troubles. 

LXVI. 

T^<^ mansion's self ,vas vast and venc\'able, 
With more of iim monastic than has been 

Elsewhere preserved ; the cloisters still were 
s*-ab!e. 
The cells, too, and refectory, I ween : 



An exquisite small chapel had been able, 

Still unimpair'd, to decorate the scene ; 
The rest had been ret'orm'd, replaced, or sunk, 
And spoke more of the banm than the monk. 

lAVlI. 

Huge halls, long galleries, spacious chambers 
joiu'd 
By no (juite lawful marriage of the arts. 
Might shock a connoisseur ; but when com 
bnied, 
Form'd a whole which, iiTegular in parts, 
Yet left a grand impression on the mind. 
At least of those whose eyes are in iheil 
hearts ; 
We ga/.e upon a giant for his stature, . 
Nor judge at first if all be true to nature. 

LXVIII. 

Steel barons, molten the next generation 
To silken rows t)f gay and garter'd earls, 

Glanced from the walls ni goodly preservation: 
And Lady Marys blooming into girls, 

With fair long locks, had also kept their 
staticm : 
And countesses mature in robes and pearls: 

Also some beauties of Sir Peter Lely, 

Whose diapery hints we may admire them 
freely. 

I,XIX. 

Judges in very formidable ermine [invite 

Were there, with brows that did not much 

The accused to think their lordships would 

determine y [right. 

His cause by leaning much from might to 

Bishops, who had not left a single sermon ; 
Attorneys-general, awful to the sight, [us) 

As hinting more (unless our judgments waip 

Of the " Star Chamber" than of " Habeas 
Corpus." 

LXX. 

Generals, some all in armour, of the old 
And iron time, ere lead had ta'en the lead; 

Others in wigs of Marlborough's martial fold, 
Hugcr than twelve of our degenerate breed: 

Lordlings, with slaves of white or keys ol 

gold: [the steed; 

Nimrods, whose canvass scarce contain'd 

And here and there some stern high patriot 
stood. 

Who could not get the place for which he sued. 

L.XXI. 

But ever and anon, to soothe your vision. 
Fatigued with these hereditary glories. 

There rose a Carlo Dolce or a Titian, 

Or wilder group of savage Salvatore b : *• 



DON JUAN. 



47 



iEere danced Albano's boys, and here the sea 

shone C^l«''«^s 

In Vernet's ocean lights; and there the 
Of murtvrs uNvcd, us Spagiioletto tainto<l 
His brush witli all the blood of all the sainted. 

LXXII. 

Here sweetly spread a landscape of Lorraine; 
There Rembrandt made his darkness etiiud 

Ut gloomy Caravaggio s gloomier stain 

Bronzed o'er somelean and stoic anchorite: — 

Bat, lo! a Teniers woos, and not in vain, 
Your eves to revel iu a lovelier sight: 

His bcU-mouth'd goblet makes me feel quite 
Dani.-,h [Rhenish. 

Or Dutch with thirst— What, ho ! a flask of 

LXXIII. 

reader ! if that thou canst read, — and know, 
"Tis not enough to spell, or even to read. 

To constitute a reader; there must go 

Virtues of which bf)th you and I have need. 

Firstly, begin with the beginning— (though 
Thatclause is htird) ; and .secondly, proceed; 

Thirdly, comm<^nce not with the end— or, 
sinning 

In this sort, end at least with the beginning. 

LXXIV. 

But, reader, thou hast patient been of late, 
While I, without rcniorsc of rhyme, or fear, 

Have built and laid out ground at such a rate, 
Dan PhfEbus takes me for an auctioneer. 

That poets were so from their earliest date. 
By Homer's " catalogue of ships" is clear; 

But a mere modern must be moderate — 

1 spare you then the furniture and plate. 

LXXV. 

The mellow autumn came, and with it came 
The prunhsed party, to enjoy its sweets. 

The corn is cut, the manor full of game; 
The pointer ranges, and the sportsman beats 

In russet jacket : — lynx-like is his aim; 

Full grows his bag, and wondeY/id his feats. 

Ah, uulbrown paitridges ! Ah, brilliant jihea- 
sants! [sants. 

A nd ah, ye poachers ! — 'T is no sport for pea- 

LXXVI. 

Jin Engli.sh autumn, though it hath no vines 
Blushing wiih Bacchant coronals along 

The paths, o'er which the far festoon entwines 
The red gr;ipe in the sunny lands of song, 

Hath yet a purcha.sed choice of choicest wines ; 
The' claret light, ^nd the Madeira strong. 

If Britain mourn her bleakness, we can tell her, 

TLe very best of vineyards is the cellar. 



LXXVII. 

Then, if she hath not that serene decline 
Which makes the southern auuiimi's day 
appear 

As if 'twould to a second .spring resign 

'I'ho season, rather than to winter drear,— 

Of indoor comforts still she hath a mine, — ^ 
The sea-coal fires, the " earliest of the year;" 

Without doors, too, she may compete in mellow 

As what is lost in green is gaiii'd in yellow. 

LXXVIII. 

And for the effeminate vilkggiatura — 

Rife with moie ht)jns than hounds — she 
hath the chase, — 

So animated that it might allure a 

Saint from his beads to join the jocund race; • 

Even Nimrod's self miglil leave the plains ol 
Dura,'"' 
And wear the Melton jacket for a space. 

If she hath no wild boars, she hath a tame 

Preserve of bores, who ought to be made game. 

LXXIX. 

The noble guests, assembled at the Abbey, 
Consistetl of — we give the sex the fas — 

The Duchess of Fitz-Fuike; the Counters 
Crabbv ; 
The Ladies Scilly, Busey;— Miss Eclat, 

Miss Bombazeen, Miss Mackstay, Miss 
O'Tabby, 
And Mrs. Rabbi, the rich banker's squaw: 

Also the honourable Mrs. Sleep, [sheep; 

Who look'd a white lamb, yet was a black 

LXXX. 

With other Countesses of Blank — but rank : 
At once the " lie " and the " ehte " of crowds ; 

Who pass like water filter'd in a tank, 

All purged and pious from their native clouds ; 

Or i)aper tuni'd to money by the Bank: 
No "matter how or why, the passpoit shrouds 

The "passce " and the past; for good society 

Is no less famed for tolerance than piety, — 

LXXXl. 

That is, up to a certain point; which point 

Forms the most difficult in punctuation. 
Appearances appear to form the joint 

On which it hinges in a higher stati:n; 
And so that no explosion cry '• Aroint 

Thee, witeh '. " or each Medea has her .fason 
Or (lo the point with Horace and the Pulci) 
" Omne tulit puncitirn , ([uai miscutt utile dulci' 

LXXXII. 
I can't exactly trace their rule of right, 

Which hath a little leaning to a lottery. 
I've seen a virtuous woman put down quits 

By the mere combination of a coterie; 



476 



DON JUAN. 



Also a so-so matron boldl/ fight 

Her way back lo the world bydintof plottery, 
knn shine the very Slria '*'- ol* the spheres, 
tsciiu'.ug wiih a lew slight, scai'less sneers. 

LXXXIII. 

I have seen more than I'll say : — but we will 
see 

How our villeggialura will get on. 
The party might consij^t of thirty-three 

Of highest i;aste — the Brahmins of the ton. 
I have named a few, not foremost in degree, 

But ta'en at hazard as the rhyme may run. 
By way of sprinkling, scatler'd amongst these, 
There also were some Irish absentees. 

There was Parolles, loo, the legal bully. 
Who limits all his battles to the bar 

And senate : when invited elsewhere, tntly 
He shows more appetite for words than war 

There was the young bard Ilacla-hyme, who 

had newly [star. 

Come out and gliramer'd as a six weeks' 

There was Lonl Pynho, too, the great free- 
thinker ; 

And Sir John Pottledeep, the mighty drinker. 

LXXXV. 

There was the Duke of Dash, who was a — 
auke, [twelve peers 

"Ay, every inch a" duke; there were 
Like Charlemagne's — and all such peers in 
'ook 
And intellect, that neither eyes nor ears 
For commoners had ever them mi>>took. 
There were the six Miss Rawbolds — pretty 
dears ! [set 

\11 song arui sentiment ; whose hearts were 
Less on a convent than a coronet 

L.xxx^n. 

There were four Honourable Misters, whose 
Hunoui- was more before their names than 
after; 

There was the preux Chevalier de la Ruse, 
Whom France and Fortune lately deign'd to 
waft here, 

V\Tiose ch)i;f5y harmless talent was to amuse ; 
BuiLlieclnl)s foundiirather serious laughter, 

Because — such washis magicpower to please — 

Th«; dice seem'd charm' il, too, with his rep;u-tees. 

Lxxxvrr. 
Ttere was DI^'k Dubious, the metaphysician, 

Who loved jihilosophy and a good dinner; 
Angle, the soi-disant mathematician ; 

Sir Henry Silvercup, the gi'cat race-winner 



Th(Te was the Reverend Rodomont Precisian 

Who did not hate so much the sin as sinner ; 
And Lord Augustus Fitz-Planiagenet, 
Good at ;ill things, but better at & bet 

r.xxxviri. 

There was Jack Jargon, th' gigantic guard* 
man ; 

And General Fireface, fan_ ,us in the field, 
A great tactician, and no less a swortlsnicvU, 

Who ate. last wai-, more Yankees than he 

kill'd. [Hardsman, 

There was the waggish Welsh Judge, JefTerieS 

In his grave otiiee so completely skili'd, 
That when a culprit came for condomnaiion. 
He had his judge's joke for consolation. 

LXXXIX. 

Good company's a chess-board — thv°re are 
kings, [world's a game. 

Queens, bishops, knights, rooks, pawns ; the 
Save that the puppets pull at their own strings, 
Methinks gay Pimch hath something of the 
same. 
My Muse, the butterfly hath but her wings. 
Not stings, and liits through ether without 
aim, 
Alighting rarely: — were she but a hornet, 
Perhaps there might be vices which would 
mourn it. 

xc. 
I had forgotten — but must not forget— 

An orator, the latest of the session. 
Who had deliver d well a very set 

Smooth speech, his first and' maidenly trans- 
gression 
Upon debate : the papers echoed yet 

With his debut, which made a strong; im. 
pression, 
And rank'd with what is every day display 'o-- 
" The best first speech that ever yet was made." 

xci. 
Proud of his " Hear hims !" proud, too, of hi> 
vote 
And lost virginity of oratory. 
Proud of his learning (just enough to quote), 

He revell'd in his Ciceronian glory. 
With memory excellent to get by rote. 

With wit to hatch a pmi or tell a story. 
Graced with some merit, and with more effron 
tcry, [countiy 

" His country's pride," he came down to the 

XCII. 

There also were two wits by acclamation, 
Longbow from Ireland, SU'ongba v from &* 
Tweed, Jo* 



DON JUAN. 



477 



Both lawyers and both men of erincation ; 
But Stroni^bow's wil was of more polish d 
breed : 
Longbow was rich in an imagination 

As beauliiul and bounding as a steed, 
Bill sometimes stumbling over a potato, — 
While Slrongbow's best things might have 
come iVom Cato. 

XCIII. 

StTongbow was like a new-tuned hai-psichord; 

But Longbow wild as an ^^olian harp. 
With which the winds ol" hciaven can claim 
accord, 
And make a music, whether flat or sharp. 
Of Slrongbow's talk you would not change a 
word : [carp : 

At Longbow's jihrases you might sometimes 
Boih wits — one born so, and the other bred, 
This by his heart — his rival by his head. 

xciv. 
If all these seem an heterogeneous mass 

To be assembled al a country seat. 
Yet think, a specimen of every class 

Is belter than a humdrum tete-a-tete. 
The days of Comedy are gone, alas ! 

WTien Coniji-eve's fool could vie with Mo- 
liere's bete ; 
Society is srnuoth'd to that excess, 
That manners hardly differ more than dress- 

xcv. 
Our ridicules are kept in the back-ground — 

Ridiculous enough, but also dull ; 
Professions, loo, are no more to be found 

Professional ; and there is nought to cull 

Of folly's fruit: for though your fools abound, 

•They're barren, and not worth ihe pains to 

pull. 

Society is now one polish 'd horde [Bored. 

F'orm'd of two mighty tribes, the Bores and 

xcvi. 

&m from bemg farmers, we turn gleaners, 

gleam'ng [truth ; 

The scanty but rioht-well ihresh'd ears of 

And, gentle reader I when you gather meaning 

You may lie Boaz, and" I — modest Kuth. 
Farther I'd quote, but Scripture intervening 
Forbids. A great impression in mv voulh 
Was made by Mr.s. Adams, where she cries, 
" That Scriptures out of church are blas- 
phemies." 

xcvir. 
But -what we can we glean in this vile age 

Of chaff, although our gleanings be not grist 
I must not quite omit the talking sage, 
Kit-Cat, the famotu Conversulionist, 



"Who, in his common-place book, had a pag« 

Pi-eparcd each morn for evenings. " List, 
oh list !" — 
" Alas, poor ghost!" — "What unexpected -woee 
Await those who have studied thiir hons-mots! 

XCIII. 
Firstly, they must allure the conversation, 

By many windings to their clever clinch; 
And secondly, must let slip no occasion, 

Nor bate (abated their hearers of an inch. 
But lake an ell — and make a great sensation, 

If possible; and thirdly, never flinch 
"When some smart talker puts them to the test, 
But seize the last word, which no doubt's the 
best. 

XCIX. 

Lord Henry and his lady were the hosts; 

The party we have touch'd on were the 
guests. 
Their table v.-as a board to tempt even ghosts 

To pass the Styx for more substantial feasts. 
I will not dwell upon ragouts or roasts. 

Albeit all hmnan history attests 
That happiness for man — the hungry sinner I — 
Since Eve ate apples, much depends on dinner. 

c. 

Witness the lands which " flow'd with milk 
and honey," 
Held out unto the hungry Israelites; 
To this we have added since, the love of money, 

The only sort of pleasure which reqaiios. 
Youth fades, and leaves our days no lougei 
sunny ; 
We tire of mistresses and parasites ; 
But oh, ambrosial cash ! Ah ! who would 

lose thee ? 
"When we no more can use, or even abu.se ihee ! 

CI. 

The gentlemen got up betimes to shoot. 
Or hunt: the young, because they liked 
the sport. — 
The first thing boys like, after play and fruit; 
The middle-agetl, to make tlie day more 
short ; 
For enmci is a growth of English root. 
Though nameless in our language! — wc 
retort 
The fact for words, and let the French translati 
That awful yawn which sleep can not abate. 

oil. 
The elderly walk'd through the library, 

And tumbled books, or criticised the picture*, 
Or saunter'd through the gardens piiiously, 
And made upon the hot-house several stri*. 
t ires. 



ib 



DON JUAN. 



Or rode a nag which trotted not too high, 

Or on ihemoi-ning papers read their lectures, 
Or on llie watch their longing eyes would fix, 
Loiiging at ^sixly for the hour of six. 

cm. 
But none were "gene:" the greathour of union 

Was rung by dinner'sknell; tilhhen*ill were 
Ma-'tci's of their own time — or in commuuioa, 

Or ^>oiilaiy, as they chose to bear 
The honi's, which how to pass is but to fev/ 
known, 

Each rose up at his own, and had to spare 

What time lie chose for dress, and broke his 

fast [past. 

Wlien, where, and how he chose for tha- re- 

civ. 
The ladies — some rouged, some a little pale — 

Met the morn as they might. If fine, they 
rode, 
Or walk'd ; if foul, they read, or told a talc. 

Sung, or rehearsed the last dance from abroad; 
Discuss'd the fashion which might next prevail. 

And settled bonnets by the newest code, 
Or cramm'd twelve sheets into one little letter, 
To make each correspondent a new debtor. 

cv. 
For some had absent lovers, all had friends. 

The earth has nothing like a she epistle, 
And hardly heaven — becanse it never ends. 

I love the mystery of a female missal. 
Which, like a creed, ne'er says all it intends, 

But full of cinining as Ulysses' whistle, 
When he allured poor Dolon: — you had better 
Take care what you reply to such a letter. 

cvi. 
Then there were billiards ; cards, too, but no 
dice ; — 

Save in the clubs no man of honour plays ; — 
Boats when 'twas water,skating when 'twas ice, 

And the hard frost destroy 'd the scentingdays: 
.\nd angling, loo, that solitary vice, 

Whatever Izaak Walton sings or says : 
Tiie quaint, old, cruel coxcomb, in his gullet 
Should have a hook, and a small trout to pull it. 



cmii. 
Sometimes a dance( though rarely on field Aav% 
For then the gentlemen were rather tired) 
Display 'd sf)me sylph-lil;e figures in its maze; 
Then there was small-talk ready when re 
quired ; 
Flirtati»n — but decorous; the mere praise^ 
Of charms that should or should not be adr 
mi rod. 
The hunters fought their fox-hunt o'er again. 
And then retreated soberly — at ten, 

CTX. 

The politicians, in a nook apart, 

Discuss'd the world, and settled all th^ 
spheres : 
The wits watch'd every loophole for their ait, 

To introduce a bon-mot head and ears ; 
Small is the rest of those who would be smart, 
A moment's good thing may have cost thera 
years, 
Before they find an hour to introduce it ; 
And then, even the7i, some bore may make 
them lose it 

ex. 
But all was gentle and aristocratic 

In this our party ; polish'd, smooth, and cold. 
As Phidian foi-ms cut out of marble Attic, 

There now are no Squire Westerns as of old,- 
And our Sophias are not so emphatic, 
But lair as then, or fairer to behold. 
We have no accomplish'd blackguards, like 

Tom Jones, 
But gentlemen in stays, as stiff as stones. - 

CXI. 

They separated at an early hour ; 

That is, ere midnight — which is London's 
noon : 

But in the country ladies seek their bower 
A little earlier than the waning moon. 

Peace to the slumbers of each folded flower- 
May the rose call back its true colour soool 

Good hours of fair cheeks are the 'airest tinters. 

And lower the price of rouge — ai least soiaft 
winters. 



With evening came the banqnet and the wine; 

The conversazione ; the duet. 
Attuned by voices more or less divine 

(M) heart or head aches with the memory 
yet). 
The four M iss Rawbolds in a glee would shine; 

But the two youngest loved more to be set 
Down to the harp — because to music's channs 
They a«ided graceful necks, wiite hands and 
arms. 



IBon 3iuan. 



CANTO THE FOURTEBNTH. 



If -from great nature s or oi« OAvn abjnu 
Of thought we could but snatch a cerUantjt 



DON JUAN. 



470 



Perhaps Siinkind might find the path they 
miss — 

But then t would spoil muchgood philosophy. 
One system eats another up, and this 

Much as old Saturn iitc his progeny ; 
.For when his pious consort gave hiui stones 
in lieu of sous, ol" these he made no bones. 

II. 
But System doth reverse the Titan's breakfast, 

And eats her parents, albeit the digestion 
Is dirficult. Pray tell me, can you make fast, 

After due search, your faith to uuy question? 
Look back o'er ages, ere unto the stake fast 

You bind yourself, and call some mode the 
best one. 
Nothingmore true than no/ to trust your senses , 
And yet what are your other evidences ? 

III. 
For me, I know nought ; nothing I deny. 

Admit, reject, contemn; and what know ijou. 
Except pei-h ips that you were born to die ? 

And both may after all turn out untrue. 
An age may ix)me. Font of Eternity, 

When nothing shall be either old or new. 
Death, so call'd, is a thing which makes men 

weep, . 
And yet a third of life is pass'd in sleep. 

IV. 

A sleep without dreams, after a rough day 
Of toil, is what ws covet most ; and yet 

How clav shrinks back Irom more quiescent 
clay ! 
The very Suicide that pays his debt 

At once without instalments (an old way 
Of paying debts, which creditors regret) 

Lets outs impatiently his rushing breath. 

Less from disgust of life than dread of death. 

V. 

T is round him, near him, here, there, every 
where; [lear,_ 

And there 's a courage which grows out of 
Perhaps of all most desperate, which will dare 
The worst to knoip it : — when the moun- 
tains rear [there 
Their peaks beneath your human foot, and 
You look down o'er'the precipice, and drear 
Tlie gulf of rock yawns, — you can't gaze a 

minute. 
Without an awful wish to plunge within it. 

M. 

Tis true, yon don't — but, pale and struck with 

teiTor, 

Retire: but look into your past impression. 

And you will find, though shuddering at the 

mirror [fession, 

Of your own thoughts, in all their 8clf-«<on. 



The lurking bias, be it truth or error, 

To the unknown ; a secret prepossession, 
To plunge with all your tears — but where? 

Vou know not. 
And that's the reason why you do — oi do ucU 

vn. 

But what's this to the purpose? vou will say, 
Gent, reader, nothing; a mere s]ieculatioaj 
For which my sole excuse is — 't is my way, 
Sometimes tcith and sometimes without 
occasion 
I write what's uppermost without delay ; 

This narrative is nt)i meant for nairation,;- 
But a njere airy and fantastic basis 
To build up common things with coram »n 
places. 

vin. 

You know, or don't know, that great Bacon 

saith, [ wind blows ;" 

" Fling up a straw, 't will show the way the 

And such a straw, borne on by human breath 

Is poesy, according as the mind glows ; 
A paper kite which dies 'twixt life and death, 
A shadow which the onward soul behind 
throws : 
And mine's a bubble, not blown up for praise, 
But just to play with, as an infant plays. 

IX. 

The wo-.ld is all before me — or behind ; 

For I have seen a portion of that same. 
And quite enough for me to keep in mind ;-^ 

Of }>assions, too, 1 have proved enough lo 
blame. 
To the great pleasure of our friends, mankind, 

Who like lo mix some slight alloy with fame; 
For I was rather famous in my lime. 
Until 1 fairly knock'd it up with rhyme. 

X. 

Ihavebroughtlhis world aboutmy ears, ami ike 
The other: thai s to say, the cler^-y — wh't 

U;>on my head have bid their thunders break 
In pioi:s libel: 'oy no means a few. 

And yet I can't help scribbling once a week, 
Tiring old readers, nor discovering new. 

In youth I wrote because my mind was lull. 

And now because I feel it growing dull. 

XI. 

But " why then publish ? " — There are no 

rewards [weary. 

Of fame or profit when ftie world grows 

I ask in turn, — Why do you play at cards ? 

Why drink? Why read? — To make s<im« 

hour less di-eary. 



480 



DON JUAN. 



[t occupies me to turn back regards 

On what I 've seen or pc nJer'd, sad or cheery; 
And \vh:a I write 1 cast upon the slream, 
To bwini or sinic— I havehud at least my dream. 

XTI. 

[ tbinlc that were I certain of snccess, 
I hardly could c(inipi)se another line; 

3*) long I 've bauled cith<;r more or less, 
7'hat no defeat can drive me from the Nine. 

This feeling 't is not easy to express, 
And yet 'tis not adected, I opine. 

Ill play, there are two pleasures for youi 
choosing — 

The one is winning, and the other losing. 

XIII. 

Besides, my Muse by no means deals in fiction: 

She gathers a repertory of I'acts, 
Of course with some reserve and slight re- 
striction, 

But mostly sings of human things and acts — 

Anil that's one cause she meets with contni- 

diction ; [attracts ; 

For too much truth, at first sight, ne'er 
And were her object only what's calTd glory. 
With more ease loo she 'd tell a ditferent story. 

XIV. 

liOve, war, a tempest — surely there 's variety; 

Also a seasoning slight of lucubration ; 
A bird's eye view, too, of that wild, Society ; 

A slight glance thrown on men of every sta- 
tion. 
If you have nought else, here's at least satiety, 

Botli in performance and in preparation ; 
And though these lines should only line port- 
manteaus, 
Trade will be all the better for these Cantos. 



The portion of this world which I at present 
Have tali en up to fill ♦.he following sennon, 

i.s one of which there 's no description recent: 
"^he reason why, is easy to determine : 

Although it scx-ms both prominentand pleasant, 
There is a sameness in its gems and ermine, 

A dtdl and family likeness through all ages, 

Of no great promise for poetic pages. 

XVI. 

lA'iih much to excite, there's little to exalt; 

Nothing that speaks to all men and all times; 
A son of varnish over every fault ; 

.A kind of common-place, even in their crimes; 
Factitious passions, wit without much sail, 

A want of that tme nature which sublimes 
VVhate'er it shows with truth ; a smooth mo- 
notony [any. 
Of character, in those at least who have got 



xni. 

Sometimes, indeed, like soldiers :.& paiade, 
Thev break their ranks and gladly leave lh« 
drill : 

But then the roll-call draws them backafraiij 
Andtheymustbeorseemwhalthey were: still 

Doubtless it is a brilliant masquerade 

But when of the first siglit you have hat. 
your fill. 

It palls — at least it did so upon me. 

This paradise of pleasure and ennui. 

XVI II. 

When we have made our love, and gamed 
our gaming, [more ; 

Drest, voted, shone, and, may be, something 
With dandies dined; heard senators declaiming; 

Seen beauties brought to market by the score, 
Sad rakes to sadder husbands chastely laming ; 

There 's little left but to be bored or bore. 
Witness those " ci-devant jeunes hommes " who 
stem [them. 

The sti'eam, nor leave the world which leaveth 

XIX. 

*Tis said — indeed a general complaint — 
That no one has succeeded in describing 

The monde, exactly as they ought to paint : 
Some say, that authors only snatch, by bribir-n 

The porter, some slight scandals strange ane 
quaint. 
To furnish matter for their moral gibing ; 

And that their books have but one style in 
common — 

My lady's prattle, filter'd through her woman 

XX. 

But this can't well be true,_inst now ; for writers 
Are grown ofthebeaumondeapart potential: 

I 've seen them balance even the scale with 
fighters, 
Especially when young, for that's essential. 

Why do their sketches fail them as ind iters 
Of what they deem themselves most const*' 
quential. 

The real portrait of the highest tribe ? 

'Tis that, in fact, there's little to describe. 

XXI. 

"Hand ignara loquor ;" these are Nnga, 
" quorum 
Pars parva fui," but still art and part. 
Now I could much more easily sketch a harem, 

A battle, wreclc, or history of the heart, 
Than these things; and besides, I wish tQ 
spare 'em. 
For reasons w^hicli I choose to keep apart 
" Vetaho Cereris sacrum qui vulaarii " — 
Which means that vulgar people must nol 
it. 



DON JtTAK 



481 



XXII. 

%nd therefore what I throw ofif is ideal — 
Lowcr'd, leavea'd. like a history of free- 
niusoijs ; 

"Which liears llie same relation to the real, 
As Capiaiii Parry's voyat^e may do to Jason's. 

The urand arcanum's not lor men to see all ; 
My jini^ic has some myotic diapasons; 

And llitre is much which eould not be appre- 
ciated 

In any manner by the uninitiated. 

XXIII. 

Alas! worlds fall — and woman, since she fell'd 
The world (as. since that history, less polite 

Than true, hath bcei5 a creed so siriclly held) 
Has not yet given up the practice quite. 

Poor tiling of usages ! coerced, compell'd, 
Victim when wTong, and martyr oft when 
right, 

Condcnni d to child-bed, as men for their sins 

Have sliaving too entuil'd upon their chins, — 

XXIV. 

A daily plague, which in the aggi'egate 
May average on the whole with parturition 

But as to women, who can penetrate 

The real sufferings of their she condition? 

Man's very sympathy with their estate 

Has much ofselfishness, and more suspicion.. 

Their love, their vntue, beauty, education, « 

But form good housekeej;ers, to breed a nation. 

XXV. 

All tills were very well, and can't be better; 

But even this is difficult, Heaven knows, 
So many troubles from her birth beset her, 

Such small distinction between friends and 
foes, 
The gilding wears so soon from off her fetter, 

That butaskany woman if she'd chnose 

(Take her at thirty, that is) to have been 
Female or male? a schoolboy or a queen? 



" Petticoat influence" is a great reproach, 
Which even those who obey would fain be 
thought 

To fly from, as from hungry pikes a roach ; 
But since beneath it upon earth we are 
brought. 

By various joltings of life's hackney coach, 
I for one venerate a petticoat — 

A gai*i^nt'of tt mystical suWiinityj 

y© meXUiT whetiier russe< silk, or dimity 



XXVII. 

Much I respect, and mucli I have adored, 
In my young days, that chaste and good ly veil. 

Which holds u treasure, like a miser's hoani, 
And more attracts by all it dn'.h conceal — 

A golden scabbard on a Damasque swurd, 
A lovinu letter with a mystic seal, 

A cure lor grief — for what can ever rankle 

Before a petticoat and peeping ankie?" 



t 



And when upon a silent, sullen day. 
With a sirocco, lor example, blowing. 

When even the sea looks dim with all its spray. 
And sulkily the river's ripple's flowing. 

And the sky shows that very ancient giay. 
The sober, sad antithesis to glowing, — 

*T is pleasant, if Iheh any thing is pleasant, 

To catch a glimpse even of a pretty peasant. 

XXIX, 

We left our heroes and our heroines 

In that fair clime which don't depend on 
climate, 

Quite independent of the Zodiac's signs. 
Though certainly more difficult to rhyme at, 

Because the sun,andst.ars,aiid aught that shines. 
Mountains, and all we can be most sublime at, 

Are there oft dull and dreary as a dun — ■ 

Whether a sky's or tradesman's is ail one. 

XXX. 

An in-door life is less poetical ; 

And out of door hath showers, and mists, 
and sleet. 
With which I could not brew a pastoral. 

But be it as it may, a bard must meet 
All difliculiies, whether great or small. 

To spoil his undertaking or complete. 
And work away like spirit upon matter, 
Embarrass'd somewhat both with fire and water. 

XXXI. 

Juan — in this respect, at least, like saints — 
Was all things unto people of all sorts. 

And lived contentedly, without complaints, 
In camps, in ships, in cottages or coiuls — 

Born with that happy soul which seldom faints, 
And mingling modestly in toils or sports. 

He likewise could be most things to all women, 

\^'ithout the coxcombry of certain slie men. 

XXXII. 

A fox-hunt to a foreigner is strange ; 

"T is also subject to the double danger 
Of tumbling first, and having in exchange 

Some pleasant jesting at the awkward 

► stmiriger- ' - «*^' ^' .^vv*ja^i»i 

32 ?i 



482 



DON JUAN. 



But Juan had been early taught to range 

The wilds, as doth an Arab uirn'd avenger. 
So thai his horse, or charger, hunter, hack, 
Knew that he bad a rider on his back. 

XXXIII. 

And now in this new field, with some applause. 

He clear'd hedge, ditch, and double post, 

and rail, L/'o»," 

And never craned, and made but few "faux 

And only Iretted when lae scent 'gan tail. 
He broke, 'tis Irne, some stattites of the laws 

Of iiunting — for the sagest youth is frail ; 
Rode o'er the hounds, it may be, now and then. 
And once o'er several country geuUenien. 

XXXIV. 

But on the whole, to general admiration 
He acquitted both himself and horse : the 
.squires 

MarveU'd at merit of another nation ; 

The boors cried "Dang it! who'd haTe 
thought it ? '" — Sires, 

The Nestors ol' the sporting generation, 

Swo2-e praises, and recall'd their former fii'es; 

The huntsman's self relented to a grin, 

And rated him almost a whipper-iu. 

XXXT. 

Such were his trophies — not of spear and shield. 
But leaps, and bursts, and sometimes foxes' 
brushes ; 

Yet I must own, — although in this I yield 
To patriot sympathy a Briton's blushes, — 

He thought at heart like courtly Chesterfield, 
Who, alter along chase o'er hills,dales,bushes, 

And whatnot, though he rode beyond all price 

Ask'd next day, " If men ever hunted twice r' 

XXXVI. 

He also had a quality uncommon 
Tt) early risers after a long chase, 

Who wake in winter ere the cock can summon 
December's drowsy day to his dull race, — 

A (pudiiy agreeable to woman, 

Wiien her soft, liquid words run on apace, 

Who likes a listener, whetljer saint or sinner.— 

He did not fall asleep just ai'ler dinner; 

XXXVII. 

Hut, light and airy, stood on the alert, 
Aiul shone in the best pan of dialogue, 

By humouring always what they might assert, 
.\n(i listening to the tojucs most in vogue ; 

Now grave, now gay, but never dull or pert; 
And smiling but in secret — cunning rogue ! 

He i:i'e'- presumed to luake an error deaBer : — 

I II ikon, there ne>.«r was a better hc<trer. 



XXXVIII. 

And then be danced ; — all foreigners ezcel 
The serious Angles in the eloquence 

Of pantomime; — he danced, I say, right wtli. 
With emphasis, and also with gootl sense— 

A thing in fo<3ting indispensable; 

He danced without theatrical pretence, 

Not like a ballet-master in the vari 

Of his drill'd nymphs, but like a gentleman. 

XXXIX. 

Chaste were his steps, each kcjjt within due 
bound. 

And elegance was sprinlded o'er his figure ; 
Like swifiCamilla.he scarce skimm'd the groimd. 

And rather held in than put forth his vigour ; 
And then he had an ear tor music's sound, 

W'hich might defy a crotchet critic's rigour. 
Such classic pas — sans flaws — set otf oiu- hero 
He glanced like a personified Bolero ;J64 

XL. 

Or like a flying Hour before Ainora 

In Guido's famous fresco'65^ which alone 

Is worth a tour to Rome, although no more a 
Remnant were there of the old world's sole 
throne. 

The " tout ensemble " of his movements- wore a 
Grace of the soft ideal, seldom shown. 

And ne'er to be described; for to the dolom 

Of bards and prosers, words are void of colour. 

XLI. 

No marvel then he was a favourite ; 

A full-grown Cupid, very much admired; 
A little spoilt, but by no means so quite; 

At least he kept his vanity retired. 
Such was his tact, he could alike delight 

The chaste, and those who are not so much 

inspired. [scriv.' 

The Duchess of Fitz-Fulke, who loved " iracas. 

Began to treat him with some small "ugacerie." 

XLII. 

Shewasa fine and somewhat full-blown blonde. 

Desirable, distinguish'd, cekbratcd 
For several winters in the grand, i;^;-^?*^ wonde. 

I'd rather not say what might be related 
Of her exploits, for this were ticklish ground ; 

Besides there might be falsehood in what'l 
stated : 
Her late performance had been a dead set 
At Lord Augustus Filz-Planiagenet. 

XLIII. 

This noble personage began to look 
A little black upon this new flirtation ; 

But such small licences must lovers brook* 
Mere ^'eedbms of the femaXe corporstiaiir 



DON JUAN. 



483 



W«ic to the man who ventures a rebuke ! 

'Twill but precipitate a situation 
Esueniely disagreeable, but common 
To calculators, wbeu they count on womau. 

XMV. 

The circle smiled, then whisper'd, and then 
sneer'd ; 
The Misses bridled, and the matrons frown'd ; 
Some hoped things might not turn out as they 
fear'd ; [be found ; 

Some would not deem such women could 
Some ne'er believed one half of what they 
heard ; [profound : 

Some look'd perplex'd, and others look'd 
And several pitied with sincere regret, 
Poor Lord Augustus Fitz-Plantagenet. 



Let no man grumble when his friends fall off. 

As they vvill do like leaves at the first breeii«: 

When yom- affairs come round, one way or 

t' other, 
Go to the coffee-house, and take another. 

XI, IX. 

But this is not my maxim : had it been, 

Some heart-aches had been spared me : ytH 
I care not — 

I would not be a tortoise in his screen 

Of stubborn shell, which waves and wea 
ther wear not. 

'T is better on the whole to have felt and seen 
That which humanity may bear, or bear not: 

Twill teach discernment to the sensitive. 

And not to poiu- their ocean in a sieve. 



But what is odd, none ever named the duke, 
Who, one might think, was something in 
the affair : 

True, he was absent, and 'twas rumour'd, took 
But small concern about the when, or where. 

Or what his consort did : if he could brook 
Her gaieties, none had a right to stare : 

Theirs was that best of unions, past all doubt 

Which never meets, and therefore can't fall 
out. 

XJ.VI. 

But, oh! thati should ever pen so sadaHne* 
Fired with an abstract love of virtue, she^ 

Vly Dian of the Ephesians, Lady Adeline, 
Began to think the duchess' conduct free, 

Regretting much that she had chosen so bad 
a line, 
And waxing chiller in her courtesy, 

'.jook'd grave and pale to see her friend's 
fragility, [bility. 

For which most friends reserve their sensi- 

XLVII. 

There's nought in this bad world like sym- 
pathy : 

Tis so becoming to the soul and face, 
Sits to soft music the harmonious sigh, [lace. 

And robes sweet friendship in a Brussels 
Without a friend, what were humanity, 

To hunt our errors up with a good grace ? 
Consoling us with — " Would you had thought 

twice ! 
Ah ! if you had but follow'd my advice !" 

XLVIII. 

O Job! you had two friends: one's quite 
enough. 

Especially when we are ill at ease; [rough, 
They arc>»ut bad pilots when the weather's 

Doctors less famou&for their cures than I'eps. . 



Of all the horrid, hideous notes of woe. 
Sadder than owl-songs or the midnight blast. 

Is that portentous phrase, " I told you so," 
Utter'd by friends, those prophets of the 
past, [do. 

Who, 'stead of saying what you now should 
Own they foresaw that you would fall at last. 

And solace your slight lapse "gainst " bonot 
mores," 

With a long memorandum of old stories. 

Ll 

The Lady Adeline's serene severity 

Was not confined to feeling for her friend. 

Whose fame she rather doubted with posterity. 
Unless her habits should begin to mend: 

But Juan <dso shared in her austerity, 

But mix'd with pity, pure as e'er was 
penn'd : 

His inexperience moved her gentle rulh, 

And (as her junior by six weeks) his youth. 

LIT. 

These forty days' advantage of her years 
And hers WT re those which can face calcu- 
lation, 

Boldly referring to the list of peers [tioi*-- 
And noble births, nor dread the enun-era 

Gave her a right to have maternal fears 
For a young gendeman's fit education, 

Though she was far from that leap yeai; 
whose leap, 

In female dates, strikes Time all of a heap. 

Mil. 

This may be fix'd at somewhere before thirty- 
Say seven-and-twenly ; for I never knew 
The strictest in chronology and yirtue [new. 
Advancebeyond, while they coi Id jmis^ fq* 
"■" -'■'^- ^1-2' ■'■■■■ 'i 3>:x..:, ..,.;. ;..■; ..i 



481 



DON JUAN. 



O Tiaie ! why dost not pause ? Thy scythe, 

so dirty [hew. 

"With rust, shoiild surely cease to hack and 
Reset it ; shave more smoothly, also slower. 
If bat to keep ihy credit us a mower. 

LIY. 

Bat Adeline was far from that ripe age, 
V/hose ripeness is but bitter ut the best . 

T was rather her experience made her sage, 
For she hatl seen the world and stood its 
test, 

As I have said in — I foiget what page ; 
My Muse despises reference, as you have 
guess'd [twenty. 

By this time : — but strike six from seven-and- 

And you will find her sum of years in pleuty. 

LV. 

•At sixteen she came out; presented, vaunted. 
She put all coronets into commotion : 

At seventeen, too, the world was still en- 
chanted 
With the new Venus of theirbrilliant ocean: 

At eighteen, though" below her feet still panted 
A hecatomb of suitors with devotion, 

She had consented to create again 

That Adam, called " The happiest of men." 

I.VI. 

Since then she had sparkled through three 
glowing winters, 

Admired, adored *, but also so correct, 
That she had puzzled all the aeutest hinters, 

W^ithout the apparel of being circumspect : 
They eould not even glean the slightestsplinters 

From off the marble, which had no defect. 
She had also snatch'd a moment since her 

mairiage, 
To bear a sou and heir — and one xniscarriage. 

LVII. 

Fondly the wheeling fire-flies flew around her, 
Those little glitlerers of the London night, 

But none of these possessed a sting to wound 
her — 
3he was a pitch beyond a coxcomb's flight. 

Perhaps she wish'd an as}nrant jjrofounder ; 
But whatsoe'er she wish'd, she acted right, ; 

And whether coldness, pride, or virtue, dignify 

A womar , so she's good, what does it signify? 

LVIIl. 

I hate a motive, Hke a lingering bottle 
Which with the landlord makes too long a 
stand. 

Leaving all-claretless the unmoisten'd throttle, 
Especially with politics on hand ; 



I hate it, as I hate a drove of cattle, [sand j 
Who whirl the dust as simooms whirl the 
I hate it as I hate an argument, 
A laiu-eaie's ode, or servile peer's " content " 



'Tis sad to hack into ibe roots of things, 
They are so much intertwisted with the 
earth ; 

So that the branch a good.y verdure flings, 
I reck not if an accrn gave it birth. 

To trace all actions to their secret springs 
Would make indeed some melancholy mirth; 

But this is not at present my concern, 

And I refer you to wise Oxenstitrn. 



With the kind view of saving an eclat, 
Both to the duchess and diplomatist. 

The Lady Adeline, as soon 's she saw 
That Juan was unlikely to resist — 

(For foreigners don't know that a j'uk.c i>a.s 
Li England ranks quite on a different \\<l . 

From those of other lands unlilest with juries, 

Whose verdict for such sin a certain cure is;—) 



The Lady Adeline resolved to take [impede 
Such measures as she thought might best 

The farther progress of this sad mistake. 
She thouglit with some simplicity indeed ; 

But innocence is bold even at the stake, 
And simple in the world, and doih not need 

Nor use those palisades by dames erected, 

W^hose virtue lies in never being detected. 



It was iiot that she fear'd the very worst : 
His Grace was an enduring, man-ied rnsui," 

And was not likely all at once to burst 

Into a scene, and swell the clients' clan \ri 

Of Doctors' Cornricns ■ but she dreaded first'" 
The magic of her Grace's talisman, 

And next a (|uarrel (as lie seem'd to fret) 

With Lord Augustus Fitz-Plantagenet. 



Her Grace, loo, pass'd forboiug an intriganit.. 

And somewhat tmch'snte iu her amorou? 

sphere ; [haunt 

One of those pretty, pre.'ous plagues, which 
A lover with caprices soft and dear, 

That like to make a (juarrel, when they can' 
Find one, each day of the delightful year : 

Bewitching, tortuiing, as they freeze or glo« 

And— what is worst of aJl— won't Jet yp»«i go 

^.fJiOn .i""i"--' "!*J-^' •"****•''' «'',»'-'*-A ^>"--- 



DON JUAN. 



485 



LXIV. 

The sort oi" ih'.rg to turn a young man's head, 
Or muke a Werter of him in the end. 

No wcMider :hen a purer soul should dread 
This s-ort of chaste liaison for a friend ; 

It were much better to be wed or dead, 
Tlian wear a heart a woman loves to rend, 

T is best to pause, and think, ere you rush on, 

\i that a " bonne fortune" be really " bonne." 

LXV. 

A. id first, in the overdowing of her heart. 
Which really knew or thought it knew no 
guile, 

She call'd her husband now and then apart, 
And bade him couuselJuan. With a smile 

Lord Henry heard her plans of artless art 
To wean Don Juan from the siren's wile ; 

And answer'd, like a statesman or a prophet. 

In such guise that she could make nothing 
of it. 

LXVI. 

Firstly, he said, " he never interfered 
In anybody's business but the king's :" 

Next, that " he never judged from what ap- 

pear'd, [things ;" 

Without strong' reason, of those sort of 

Thirdly, that " Juan had more brain than 
beard. 
And was not to be held in leading strings;" 

And fourthly, what need hardly be said twice, 

■' Thatgoodbut rarely came from good advice." 

LXVII. 

And, therefore, doubtless to approve the truth 
Of the last axioin, he advised his spouse 

To leave the parties to themselves, forsooth — 
At least as far as bienseance allows : 

That time would temper Juan's faults of youth ; 
That young men rarely made monastic vows; 

That opposition only more attaches^ — 

But here a messenger brought in despatches : 

LXT"TI. 

nd being of the council call'd " the Privy," 

Lord Henry walk'd into his cabinet, 
To furnish matter for some future Livy, 

To tell how he reduced the nation's debt; 
And if their full contents I do not give ye. 

It is because I do not know them yei ; 
But I shall add them in e irief appendix, 
To come between mine epic and its index. 



Rut ere he went, he added a slight hint, 
Another gentle common-place o,' two. 

Such as are coin'd in conversation > mint, 
And pass, for want of better, though not new: 



Then broke his packet, to see what was in 't, 

And having casually glanced it through, 
Retired ; and, as be went out, calmly kiss d her 
Less like a young wife than an aged sister. 

LXX. 

He was a cold, good, honourable man, 

Pi-oud of his birth, and proud of every thi ag; 

A goodly spirit for a state divan, 
A figure tit to walk before a king ; 

Tall, stat'.ly, form'd to lead the courtly van 
On birthdays, glorious with a star and string ; 

The very model of a chamberlain — 

A nd such I mean to maky him when I reign. 



But there was something wanting on th« 
whole— [tell^ 

I don't know what, and therefore cannot 
Which pretty women — the sweet souls I — call 
soul. 

Certt'S it was not body ; he was w ell 
Proportion'd, as a poplar or a pole, 

A handscmie man, that human miracle ; 
And in each circumstance of love or war, 
Had still preserved his perpendicidar. 

LXXII. 

Still there was something wanting, as I 've 
said — 

That undetinable " Je ne scats quoi," 
Which, for what I know, may of yore have leci' 

To Homer's Iliad, since it drew to Troy 
TheGreekEve,Ht;len,fiomtheSpartan's bed ; 

Though on the whole, no doubt, the Dardan 
bov 
Was much infwior to King Menelaiis : — 
But thus it is some women will beUay us. 

Lxxrri. 
There is an awkward thing which much per- 
plexes. 
Unless like wise Tiresias we ha^l proved 
By turns the difference of the several sexes ; 
Neither can show quite how they w<Hild be 
loved. 
The sensual for a short time but connects us— 

The sentimental boasts to be unmoved ; 
But both together form a kind of centaur, 
Upon whose back "t is better not to venture. 

LXXIV. 

A something all-sufhcient for the heart 
Is that for which the sex are always seeking 

But how to fill up that same vacant part? 
There lies the rub — uad this they are bni 
weak in. 



480 



DON JP^JS. 



Fiail mariners afloat withDut a chart, 
'J.'hf.;' niii before tlie wind through high seas 
breaking ; [every shock, 

And wlien they have made the shore through 
T is odd; or odils. it may turn out a rock. 

LS.S.V. 

I'atre is a flower call'd " Love in Idleness," 
Fui which see Siiakspeare's ever blooming 

garden : — 
will nut make his gieat description less, 
And beghisBritishgodship's humble pardon. 

If in my extremity of rhyme's distress, 

I touch a single leaf where he is warden;— 

But through the flower is different, with the 
P'rench 

Or Swiss Rousseau, cry " V'oila la Pervenche !" 

LXXTI 

Eureka ! I have found it ! What I mean 
To say is, not that love is idleness, 

But that in love such idleness has been 
An accessory, as I have cause to guess. 

Hard labour's an indifferent go-between ; 
Your men of business are not apt to express 

Much passion, since the merchant-ship, the 
Argo, 

Convey 'd Medea as her supercargo. 

LXVII. 

'' Beatus ille procul!" fiom " negotiis, " 
Saith Plorace ; the great little poet's wrong; 

His other maxim, " No&citur a sociit," 
Is much more to the purpose of his song; 

Though even that were sometimes too ferocious. 
Unless good company be kept too long ; 

But, in his teeth, whateer their state or station, 

Thrice happy they who have an occupation ! 

LXXVIII. 

Adam exchanged his Paradise for ploughing. 
Eve made up millinery with fig leaves — 

The earliest knowledgefrom the tree so knowing, 
As far as I know, that the church receives: 

And since that time it need not cost much 
showing, 
That many of the ills o'er which man grieves, 

Lrd still more women, spring from not em- 
ploying joying. 

Some hours to make the remnant worth en- 

LXXIX. 

A.nd hence high life is oft a dreary void, 
A rack of pleasures, where we must invent 

\. somethmg wherewithal to be annoy'd. 
Bards may sing what they please about 
Content ; 

Contented, when translated, means but cloy'd ; 
And hence u"ise the woes of sentiment. 

Blue devils, and blue-stockings, and romances 

Reduced to practice, ^nd perfpnn'd like dances 



txxx, 

I do declare, upon an affidavit, 

Romances 1 ne'er read like those I have seen*. 

Nor, if unto the world I ever gave it, 

Would some believe that such a tale had 
been ; ■ 

But such intent I never had, nor have it; 
Some truths are better kept behind a screen 

Especially when they would look like lies ; 

I therefore deal iji generalities. 

LXXXI 

" An ovster may be cross'd in love,"— amJ- 
why ? 

Because he mopeth idly in his shell. 
And heaves a lonely subierraqueous sigh, 

Much as a monk may do within his cell: 
And a-propos of monks, their piety 

With sloth hath found it difficult to dwell , 
Those vegetables of the Catholic creed 
Are apt exceedingly to run to seed. 

LXXXII. 

O Wilberforce ! thou man of black renown, 
Whose merit none enough can sing or saj, 

Thou hast struck one immense Colossus down, 
Thou moral Washington of Africa ! 

But there 's another little thing, I own, 
Which you should perpetiate some summer's 
day, 

And set the other half of earth to rights ; 

You have freed the blacks — now pray shut up 
the whites. 

LXXXIII. 

Shut up the bald-coot''^'* bully Alexander ! 

Ship nfl" the Holy Ttiree to Senegal ; 
Teach them that '' sauce for goose is sauce for 
gander," 

And ask them how they like to be in thrall? 
Shut up each high heroic salamander. 

Who eats lire gratis (since the pay's but 
small) ; 
Shut up — no, not the King, but the Pavilion,"'" 
Or else 't will cost us all another miilion. 

LXXXI v. 

Shut up the world at large, let Bedlam out ; 

And you will be perhaps surprised to tind 
All things pursue exactly the same route, 

As now with those of soi-disant sound mind. 
This I could prove beyond a single doubt, 

Where there a jot of sense among mankind. 
But till that point d'appui is found, alas I 
Like Archimedes, I leave earth as 'twas. 

LXXXV. 

Our gentle Adeline had one defect — 

Ht • heart was vacant, though a splendk 
mansion : „ 



DON jruAN. 



487 



Her 3cncl'.ct had been perfectly correct, 
As slic hi»,d seen nought claimiUo its expan- 
sion. 
A wavering spirit may be easier wjeck'd 
BL-cause t is frailer, doubtless, tcan a sIJjLcI 
one : 
B it when the latter works its own undo.ng. 
Its inner crash is like an earthquaKe's r :in. 

LXXXVI. 

She loved her lord, or thougln so ; but that love 
Co>t her an etl'ort, which is a sad toil, 

The stone of Sysiphus, if once we move 
Oin- feelhigs "giuiist the nature of the soil. 

She hud nothing to complain of, or reprove, 
No bickerings, no connubial turmoil : 

Their union was a model to behold, 

Serene and noble, — conjugal, but cold. 

LXXXVIl. 

There was no great dispm-ity of years. 

Though much in temper ; but they nevej 
cla>li'd: 

They moved like stars united in their spheres 
Or like the Rhone by Leman's w aters wa.-h'd, 

Wiiere mingled and. yet separate appears 
The river from the lake, all bluely dash'd 

Through the serei>e and placid glassy deep, 

Which fain would lull its river-chikl to sleep. 

I.XXXTIII. 

Now when she once had ta'en an interest 
In any thing, however she might Hatter 

Herself thai her intentions were the best, 
Intense intentions are a dangerous matter: 

Impi?ssions were much stronger than she 
guess'd, 
And giither'd as they run like growing water 

Upon her mind; the more so, as her breast 

Was not at first too readily impress'd. 

LXXXIX. 

But when it was, she bad that lurking demon 
Ofdo!ibie nature, and thus doubly named — 

Finnness yclept ir. heroes, kings, and teamen. 
That is, when they succeed; but greatly 
blamed 

As obstinaoj, both in men and women, 
Whene'er their triumph pales, or star is 
tamed : — 

And 't will perplex the casuist in norality 

To fix the due boundsof this dangtrous quality. 



fo draw the line betwepn the false and tnie 
If such can e'er be drawn by man's capacitj 
My business is with Lady .Adeline, 
Who in her way too was a heroine. 



She knew not her own heart ; then ho\i 
shoukl I ? 

I think not she was then in love with Juan 
If so, she would have had the strength to tly 

The wild sensation, unto her a new one : 
She merely felt a common sympathy 

(1 will not say it was a false or true one) 
In him, because she thought he was in dan- 
ger,— _ [stranger. 
Her husbaml's friend, her own, young, 'uui a 

XCII. 

She was, or thought she was, his friend— and 
this 

Without the f;irce of friendship, or romance 
PlatoniL-m, which leads so oft amiss 

Ladies who have studied friendship but in 
France, 
Or Germany, where people purely kiss. 

To thus much Adeline would not ailvance ; 
But of such friendship as man's may to man be 
She was as capable as woman can be. 



No doubt the secret influence of the sex 
Will there, as also in the ties of blood. 

An innocent predominance annex, 
And tune the concord to a finer mood. 

If free from passicm, which all friendship 
checks, 
And your true feelings fully understood, 

No friend like to a woman earth discovers, 

So that you have not been nor will be lovers 

xciv. 
Love bears within its breast the very germ 

Of change; and how should thisbeoihei-wisa 
That violent things more quickly fintl a terra ^ 

Is shown through nature's whole analogies 
And how should the most fierce of all be firm? 

Would you have endless lightnings in the 
skies? 
Methinks Love's very title says enough : 
How should the tender passion ere be iovght 



Had Buonaparte won at Waterloo, 
It had been firmness ; now 'tis pertinajlty; 

Mast the event decide between the two ? 
I 'eave it to your people of sag8."itjr 



Alas! by all experience, seldom yet [many 
(I merely quote what I have heard from 

Had lovers not some reasor to regret 

Too passion which made Solomon s zanj. 



488 



DON JUAN; 



I've also seen some wives (not to forget 

The marriage state, the best or worst of any) 
Who were the very paragons of wives, 
Vet made the misery of at least two lives. 

xcvi 
I >e also seen some remale/r/e?i(is ('tis odd. 

But true — as, it expedient, I could prove) 
Ihut, faithful were through thick and thin 
al)road, 

At home, far more than ever yet was Love— J 
Who did not quit me when Oppression trod 

Upon nie ; whom no scanolal could remove; 
Who fought, and fight, in absence, too, my 

battles, 
Despite the snake Society's loud rattles. 

xcvii. 
Whether Don Juan and chaste Adeline 

Grew friends in this or any other sense, 
Will be discuss'd hereafter, I opine: 

At present I am glad of a pretence 
i'o leave them hovering, as the eifect is fine. 

And keeps the atrocious leader in suspense: 
The surest way for ladies and for books 
To bait their tender or their tenter hooks. 

XCVIII. 

Wliether they rode, or v.'alk'd, or studied 
iSpanish 

To read Don Quixote in the original, 
A pleasure before which all others vanish; 

Whether their talk was of the kind call'd 
" small," 
Or serious, are the topics I must banish 

To the next Canto; where peihaps I shall 
Say something to the purpose, and display 
Considerable talent in my way. 

xcrx. 
Above all, I beg all men to forbear 

Anticipating aught about the matter. 
They'll only make mistakes about the fair 

And Juan too, especially the iatter. 
^nd I shall take a much more serious air, 

Than I have yet done, in this epic satire. 
It is not tlear that Adeline and Juan 
Will fall ; but if they do, 'twill be their ruin. 

c. 
But great things spring from little: — Would 
you think. 

That in our youth, as dangerous a passion 
As e'er brought man and woman to the brink 

Of ruin, rose from such a slight occasion, 
As few would ever dream could form the link 

Of such a sentimental situation? 
You'll never guess, I'll bet you millions, 

milliards — 
[t all sprung from a harmless genie at baUHivbt 



'Tis strange, — but tioie; for truth is alwayi 
• strange; 

Stranger than fiction : if it could be told, 
How much would novels gam by the ex- 
change! [hold! 

How didcrently the world would men b.s- 
How oft would vice and virtue places change: 

The new world would be nothing to the old, 
If some Columbus of the moral seas 
Would show mankind their souls' antipodes. 

CII. 

What " antres vast and deserts idle " then 
Would be discover'd in the human soul ! 

What icebergs in the hearts of mighty men, 
With self-love ia the centre as their pole! 

What Anthropophagi are nine of ten 

Of those who hold the kingdoms in control I 

Were things but only call'd by their right name, 

Csesar himself would be ashamed oi' fame. 



Bon %\xd,\\. 



CANTO THE FIFTEENTH.!''*' 



Ah I — W^hat should follow slips from my r« 
flection ; 
Whatever follows ne'ertheless may be 
As a-propos of hope or retrospection , 

As though the lurking thought had follow'd 
free. 
All present life is but an interjection. 

An " Oh I " or " Ah !" of joy or misery, 
Or a "Ha! ha!" or "Bah!" — a yawn, o* 

"Pooh!" 
Of which perhaps the latter is most true. 

II. 
But, more or less, the whole's a syncope 

Or a singultus — emblems of emotion, 
The grand antithesis to great ennui. 

Wherewith we break our bubbles on tlw 
ocean, 
That watery outline of eternity. 

Or miniature at least, as is my notion. 
Which ministers unto the soul's delight. 
In seeing matters which are out of sight. 

Ill 
But all are better than the sigh supprest, 

Corroding in the cavern of the heart, 

Making the countenance a masque of rent, 

And tiirning hujpan naUxre to ai^ art 



DOl^ JUAN. 



489 



Few men dare show their thoughts of worse 
or be^t ; 
Di.ssimululion always sets apart 
A comer for herself; and ihei-eforc fiction 
Is. that which passes with least contradiction. 

IV, 

Ah ! w ho can tell ? Or rather, who can not 
Reiuember, without telling, passion's errors? 

The drainer of f)blivion, even the sot, 

Huih got blue devils for his morning mirrors : 

What though on Lethe's stream he seem to float, 
He cannot sink his tremors or his terrors: 

The ruby glass that shakes within his hand 

Leaves a sad sediment of Time's worst sand. 



And as for love — love ! We will proceed. 

The Lady AdeHne Amundeville, 
A p'-etty name as one would wish to read, 

Must perch harmonious on my tuneful quill. 
There's music in the sighing of a reed; 

There's music in the gushing of a rill ; 
There's music in all things, if men had ears: 
Their earth is but an echo of the spheres. 



The Lady Adeline, right honourable, 

And honour'd, ran a risk of growing less so; 

For few of the soft sex are very stable [so! 
In their resolves — alas ! that I should say 

They differ as wine differs from its label, , [so, 
V/hen once decanted ; — I presume to guess 

But will not swear: yet both upon occasion, 

Till old, may undergo adulteration, 



But Adeline was of the purest vintage. 

The umningled essence of the grape; and yet 

Bright as a new Napoleon from its mintage. 
Or glorious as a diamond richly set; 

A page where Time should hesitate to print age. 
And for which Nature might forego her 
debt — 

Sole creditor whose process doth involve in't 

The luck of finding every body solvent. 



O Death ! thou dunnest of all duns ! thou daily 
KnorVest at doors, at first with modest tap, 

Like a meek tradesman when, approaching 
falely, 
Some splendid debtor he would take by sap: 

But oft denied, as patience 'gins to fail, he 
Advances with exasperated rap, 

And (if let in) insists, iu terms unhandsome, 

Ob :eady monoy, dr ' a draft on Ransom." 



Whatc'er thou takest, spare a while pooi 
Beauty ! 
She is so rare, and thou hast so much prey. 
What though she now and then may slip froir 
duly. 
The more 's the rea.son why you ought to stay. 
Gaunt Gourmand ! with whole nations foryouj 
booty. 
You shotild be civil in a modest way : 
Suppress, then, some slight feminine diseawi, 
And take as many heroes as Heaven piea.ses 
X. 

Fair Adelme, the more ingenuous 

Where she was interested (as was said). 

Because she was not apt, like some of us, 
To like too readily, or too high bred 

To show it — (points we need not now discuss) — • 
Would give up artlessly both heart and head 

Unto such feelings as seem'd innocent. 

For objects worthy of the sentiment. 

X.I. 

Some part of Juan's history, which Run our. 
That live gazette, had scalter'd to disfigure, 

She had heard; but women hear with mo.-e 
good humour 
Such aberrations than we men of rigour: 

Besides, his conduct, since in England. gre\» 

more [vigour 

Strict, and his mind assumed a manliel 

Because he had, like Ak-loiades, 

The art of living in all climes with ease. 

XII. 

His manner was perhaps the more seductive, 
Because he ne'er seem'd anxious to seduce ; 

Nothing affected, slu(Ued, or constructive 
Of coxcombry or conquest: no abuse 

Of his attractions marr'd the fair perspective 
To indicate a Cupidon broke loose. 

And seem to say, " Resist us if you f m "— 

Which makes a dandy while it spoils a man. 

XIII. 

They are wrong — that's not the way to se 
about it ; 

As, if they told the truth, could well be shown 
But, right or wrong, Don Juan was without it 

In fact, his manner was his own alone ; 
Sincere he was — at least you could not doubtit 

In listening merely to h's voice's tone. 
The devil hath not in all his quiver's choice 
An aiTow for the heart like a sweet voice. 

XIV. 

By nature soft, his whole addreiw^held off 
Suspicion: thougb nottimii, W^^agard 



490 



DON JUAN. 



Was such as rather seem'd to keep aloof, 
Tc shield himself than put you ou your 
guard : 
Perhap.> "l was hardly quite assured enough, 

But modesty's at times its own reward, 
Like virtue : and the abserce of pretension 
WH go much farther than there's need to 
mention. 

XV. 

S"rene, accomplish'd, cheerful but not loud; 

I'lsinuating without insinuation; 
Observant of the foibles of the crowd, 

Yet ne'er betraying this in conversation ; 
Proud with the proud, yet courteously proud. 

So as to make them feel he knew his station 
And theirs: — without a struggle for priority. 
He neither brook'd nor claim'd superiority. 

XVI 

That is, with men: with women he was what 
Thev please to make or take him for ; and 
■ thfir 

Imagination's quite enough for that: 
So that the outline's tolerably fair. 

They fill the caavass up — and " verbum sat.* 
If once their phantasies be brought to bear 

Upon an object, whether sad or playful, 

Thev can trniistigure brighter than a Ra- 
phacl.169 

XVII. 

Adeline, no deep judge of character. 

Was apt to add a colouring from her own: 

'Tis thus the good will amiably err. 

And eke the wise, as has been often shown. 

p]x])erience is the chief philosopher, 

But saddest when his science is well known: 

And persecuted sages teach the schools 

Their folly in forgetting there are fools. 

XVIIl. 

Was it not so, great Locke ? and greater 
- Bacon? 

Great Socrates? And thou, Diviner still, 
Whose lot it is by man to be mistaken, 

And thy pure creed made sanction of all ill? 
R-'deeming worlds to be by bigots shaken, 

How was thy toil rewarded ? We might fill 
V tlmnos with similar sad illustrations, 
But leave them to the conscience of the nations. 

XIX. 

I perch tipon an humbler promontory. 

Amidst life's infinite variety: [glory, 

With no great care for what is nicknamed 
But speculating as I cast mine eye 

On M hat may suit or may not suit my story, 
And never straining hard to versify, 

£ rattle on exactly as I 'd talk 

With any body in a ride oi- walk 



I don't kno'w that there may be much ability 
Shown in this sort of desultory rhyme ; 

But there's a conversational facility , 

Which may round off an hour upon a tine 

Of this I'm sure at least, there's no servility^ 
In mine irregularity of chime. 

Which rings what's uppermostof new or hoary 

Just as I feel the " Improvvisatore." 

XXI. 

** Omnia vult belle Matho dicere — die ali- 
quando 

Et bene, die neutrum, die aliquando male." 
The first is rather more than mortal can do ; 

The second may be sadly done or gaily ; 
The third is still more diiBcult to stand to ; 

The fourth we hear, and see, and say top, 
daily ; 
The whole together is what I could wish..- 
To serve in this conundrum of a dish. 

XXII. 

A modest hope — but modesty's my forte. 
And pride my feeble : — let us ramble on. 

I meant to make this poem very short. 

But now I can't tell where it may not run. 

No doubt, if I had wish'd to pay my court 
To critics, or to hail the settini] sun 

Of tyranny of all kinds, my concision 

Were more ; — but I was born for opposition, 

XXIII. 

But then 'tis mostly on the weaker side ; 

So that I verily believe if they 
Who now are basking in their full-blown pride 

Were shaken down, and " dogs had had 
their day," 
Though at the first I might perchance deride 

Thf.'ir tumble, I should turn the other way. 
And wax an ultra-royalist in loyalty, 
Because I hate even dcmocatic royalty 

XXIV. 

I think I should have made a decent .spouse. 
If I had never proved the soft ccmdition ; 

I think I should have made monastic vows, 
But for my own peculiar superstition: 

'Gainst rhyme I never should have knock'd 

my brows, [Priscian, 

Nor broken my own head, nor that oi 

N<u' worn the motley mantle af a poet, 

If some one had not told me to forego it 

XXV. 

But " laissez aller" — knights and dames I sing. 
Such as the times nuiy furnish. 'T is aflighl 

Which' seems at first to need no lofty wing 
Plumed by Longinus or the Stagy rite : 



DON JUAN. 



4^1 



The difBcuhy lies in coli uring 

(Keeping the due proportions still in sight) 
With nature "manners «hich are artificial, 
A.n(i reud'ring general that which is especial. 

XXVI. 

Th'j difference is, that in the days of old 
Mou made the manners ; manners now 
mal-e men — [fold, 

Piiin'd like a flock, and fleeced too in their 
At leait nine, and a ninth beside of ten. 

Now this at all events must render cold 
Your writers, whi> must either draw again 

Days belter drawn before, or else assume 

Phepresent with their common place costume. 

XXVII. 

We'll do our best to make the best on't: — 
March! [flutter; 

March, my Muse ! If you cannot fly, yet 
And when you may not be sublime, be arch, 

Or starch, as are the edicts statesmen utter. 
We surely may find something worth research : 

Columbus found a new world in a cutter, 
Or brigantine, or pink, of no gieat tonnage, 
While yet America was in her non-age. 

XXVIII. 

When Adeline, in all her gi-owing sense 
Of Juan's merits and his situation, 

Felt on the whole an interest intense, — 
Partly perhaps because a fresh sensation. 

Or that he had an air of innocence. 

Which is for innocence a sad temptation, — 

As women hate half measures, on the whole, 

She 'gan to ponder Low to save his soul. 



She had a good opinion of advice, 

Like all who give and eke receive it gratis, 

For which small thanks are still the market 
price, 
Even where the article at highest rate is : 

She thought upon the subject twice or thrice, 
And morally decided, the best state is [ried, 

.?or morals, marriage ; and this question car- 

She seriously advised him to get mai-ried. 

XXX. 

Juan replied, with all becoming deference. 
He had a predilection for that tie ; 

But that, at present, with immediate reference 
To his own circumstances, there might lie 

some difficulties, as in his own preference. 
Or that .f her to whom he might apply ; 

That still he'd wed with such or such a lady, 

wf that they were not man ied all already. 



XXXI. 

Next to the making matches for herself, 

And daughters, brothers, sisters, kith or kii. 
Arranging them like books on the same shelf 

Theie's nothing women love to dabble in 
More (like a stock-holder in growing peif) 

Than matchinaking in general : 'tis no Mn 
Certes, but a preventative, and therefore 
That is, no doubt, the only reason whciefor* 

XXXII. 

But never yet (except of course a miss 
Unwed, or mistress never to be wed, 

Or wed already, who object to this) [head 
Was there chaste dame who had not in hci 

Some drama of the marriage unities. 

Observed as strictly both at board and bed. 

As those of Aristotle, though sometimes 

They turn out melodrames or pantomimes. 

XXXIII. 

They generally have some only son, 

Some heir to a large property, some friend 

Of an old family, some gay Sir John, 

Or grave Lord George, with whom per- 
haps might end 

A line, and leave posterity undone, 

Unless a marriage was applied to mend 

The prospect and their morals ; and besides, 

They have at hand a blooming glut of brides. 

XXXIV. 

Fiom these they will be careful to select. 
For this an heiress, and for that a beauty. 

For one a songstress who hath no defect, ' 
For t' other one who promises much duty ; 

For this a lady no one can reject, [booiv ; 
Whose sole accomplishments were quiic a 

A second for her excellent connection.s ; 

A third, because there can be no objections. 

XXXV. 

When Rapp the Harmonist embargo'd niar- 

i-iage [floui-ishes 

In his hai-monious settlement — (which 

Strangely enough as yet without miscarriage. 

Because it breeds no more mouths than it 

nourishes. 

Without those sad expenses which dispurage 

What Nature naturally most encourages) — 

Why call'd he " Harmony" a state saas 

wedlock ? 
Now here I 've got the preacher at a deadlock 

XXXVI. 

Because he either meant to sneer at hannony 
Or marriage, by divorcing them thus o<idly 

But whether reverend Rapp loarn'd thi? in 
Germany 
Or no, 'tis said his sect is rich and godly, 



4D2 



DOK JUAN. 



Pious and pure, beyojid what I can term any 
Of ours, although they propagate more 
broadly. 
My objection "s to his title, j?ot his ritual, 
Although I wonder how it.grew habitual. 

XXXVII. 

But Rapp is the reverse of zealous matrons, 
^ ^ Who favour, raalgre Mallhus, generation — 
i'.ofessors of that genial art, and patrons 

Of all the modest part of pi-opagation ; 
Which after all at such a desperate rate runs, 

That half its produce tends to emigration. 
That sad result of passions and potatoes- 
Two weeds which pose our economic Catos. 

XXXTIII. 

Had Adeline read Malthus '} I can't tell ; 
I wish she had ; his book s the eleventh 
commandment, [less tt-eW: 

Which says, " Thou shalt not marry," un- 
This he (as far as I can understand)" meant 
'Tis not my purpose on his views to dwell, 
Nor canvass what " so eminent a hand" 
meant ; 
But cartes it conducts to lives ascetic, 
Or turning marriage into arithmetic. 

XXXIX. 
But Adeline, who probably presumed 

That Juan had enough of maintenance, 
Or separate maintenance, in case ' t was 
doora'd — 
>As on the whole it is an even chance 
Th-t bridegrooms, after they arcfairlv^roowi'd, 
May retrograde a little in the dance [fame, 
Of marriage— (which might form a painter's 
Like Holbein's " Dance of Death"— but 'tis 
the same) ; — 

XL. 

But Adeline determined Juan's wedding 
In her own miml, and that's enough for 
woman : [Miss Reading, 

But then, with whom.» There was the sage 
Miss Raw, Miss Fla^, Miss Showman, and 
Miss Knowman, 
And the two fair co-heiresses Giltbedding, 
She deem'd his merits something more than 
common : 
411 these were unobjectionable matches. 
And might go on, if well wound up, like 
watches, 

XLI. 

There was Miss Millpond smooth as sum. 
mer's sea, 
That usual paragon, an only daughter, 
Who seem'd the cream of equanimity. 
Till skimm'd— and then there was some 
milk and water. 



With a slight shade of blue too, it might ba 

iJeneath the surlace ; but what did it matteil 

Love 's riotous, butmarriage should have quiet 

And being consumptive live on a milk diet. ' 

XLII. 

And then there was the Miss Aurtacia Shoe. 
string, 
A dashing demoiselle of good estate. 
Whoseheart was fix'd upon astaror blue string 
But whether English duke.-, grew rare of latt 
Or that she had not harp'd upon the u-iw 
string, 
By which such sirens can attract our greatj 
She took up with some foreign vounger 

brother, 
A Russ or Tmk— the one *s as good as t' other. 

XLIII. 

And then there was— but why should I go on. 
Unless the ladies should go off? — there waj 

Indeed a certain fair and fairy one, 

Of the best class, and better than her class,— 

Aurora Raby, a young star who shone 

O'er life, too sweet an image for such glass^ 

A lovely being, scarcely form'd or moidded, 

A rose with all its sweetest leavf , yet folded; 

XLIV. 

Rich, noble, but an oi-phan ; le^ an only 
Child to the care of guai-diansj <od and kind;". 

But still her aspect had an aii o lonely ! '.-. 
Blood is not water; and whe. ; shall we find 

Feelings of youth like thov , which over- 
thrown lie 
By death, when we are lefl alas ! behind. 

To feel, in friendless ])alace3 a home 

lo wanting, and our best tie» n the tomb ? 

XLV. 

Early in years, and yet mor . infantine 
In figure, she had someih <]g of sublime 

In eyes which sadly shone, as seraphs' shine 
All youth — but with an a^jpect beyond rime; 

Radiant and grave — as pit^ing man's decline; " 
Mournful — butmournfu' of another's crime... . 

Sie look'd as if she sat by Eden's door. 

And grieved forthose who c auld returu no more 

XLVI. 

She was a Catholic, too, aincer«», austere, 
As far as her own gentle heart allow'd. 

And deem'd that fallen worshi| far more dear 
Perhaps because 't was falleu: her sires weip 
proud 

Of deeds and days when they had fill'd the eai 
Of nalions, and had never bent or bow'd 

To novel power ; and as she was the last. 

She held their old faith and old /eehngs fast 



DON JUAN. 



493 



She gazed upon a world she scarcely knew 
As scekinj/ not to know it ; sili^iil, lone, 

As grows a flower, thus quietly she grew, 
And kept her heart serene wiiliin its zone. 

There was awe in the hom;ige which she drew; 
Her spirit seein'd as seated on a throne 

apart from the surrounding world, and strong 

[n its own strength — most strange in one so 
young I 

XLTIII. 

Now it so happen'd, in the catalogue 
Of Adeline, Aurora was omitted, 

Ahhough her birth and wealth had given her 
vogue, 
Beyond the charmers we have already cited; 

Her beauty also seem'd to form no clog 
Against her being mention'd as well fitted 

By many virtues, to be \^-orth the trouble 

Ot single gentlemen who would be double. 

XLIX. 

And' this omission, like that of the bust 
Of Brutus at the pageant of Tiberius, 

Made Juan wonder, as no doubt he must. 
This he express'd half smiling and half 
serious ; 

When Adeline replied with some disgust. 
And with an air, to say the least, imperious, 

She maVvell'd " what he saw in such a baby 

As that prim, silent, cold Aurora Raby? ' 

L. 

Juan rcjoin'd — " She was a Catholic, 

And therefore fittest, as of his persuasion ; 

Since he was sure his mother would fall sick, 
And the Pope thunder excommunication, 

If " But here Adeline, who seem'd to pique 

Herself extremely on the inoculaticm 

Of others with her own opinions, stated — 

As usual — the same reason which she late did. 

LI. 

And wherefore not'' A reasonable reason, 
If ?ood, is none the worse for repetition ; 

Tf bad, the best way "s certainly to lease on, 
And amplify : you lose much by concision, 

JV'hereas insisting in or out of season 
Convinces allmsu, even a politician; 

Or — what is just the same — it wearies out. 

So the end's gain'd, what signifies the route? 

LI I. 

JFTitj Adeline had this slight prejudice — 
For prejudice it was — against a creature 

As pure as sanctity itself from vice. 

With all the added charm of form and 'ea- 
ture, 



For me appears a question far too nice, 
Since Adeline was liberal by nature; 
But nature 's nature, and has more caprioon 
Than I have time, or will, to take to pieces. 

, LIII. 
Perhaps she did not like the quiet way 

With which Aurora on those baubles look'd. 
Which charm most people in their earlierday,. 

For there are few things by mankind less 
brook'd. 
And womankind too, if we so may say, 

Thanfindingthus their genius stand rebuked. 
Like '-Anthony's by CiBsar," by the few 
Who look upon tliem as they ought to do 

LIT. 

It was not envy — Adeline had none ; 

Her place was far beyond it, and her mmd. 
It was not scorn — which could not light on one 

Whose greatest/awZ/ was leaving few to find. 
It was not jealousy, I think : but shun 

Following the " ignes falui" of mankind. 

It was not but 't is easier far, alas ! 

To say what it was not than what it was. 

LV. 

Little Aurora deem'd she was the theme 

Of such discussion. She was there a guest; 
A beauteous ripple of the brilliant stream 

Of rank and youth, though purer than the 
rest, 
^^^lich flow d on for a moment in the beam 

Time sheds a moment o er each sparkling 
crest. smiled— 

Had she known this, she would have cairilly 
She had so much, or little, of the child. 

LTr. 
The dashing and proud air of Adeline 

Imposed not upon her : she saw her blaze : 
Much as she would have seen a glow-worm 
shine, 

Then uirn'd unto the stars for loftier rays. ■ 
Juan was something she could not divine. 

Being no sibyl in the new world's ways ; 
Yet she was nothing dazzled by the meteor 
Because she did not pin her faith on feature. 

LVII. 

His fame too, — for he had that kind of fame 
Which sometimes plays the deuce with 
womankind, 

A heterogeneous mass of glorious blame, 
Halfvirtuesand whole vices being combinco; 

Faults which attract because they are nor tam«:; 
Follies trick'd out so brightly that they 
blind :— 

These seals upon herwax made no impression. 

Such was her coldness or her self-i 



494 



DON JUAN. 



LVIll. 

Juan knew nought ol' such a character — 
High, yet reiseinbling not his lost Haidee ; 

Yet each was radiant m her piuper sphere : 
The island gh-1, bred u,i b^' the ione sea, 

More wivm, as lovely, and not less sincere, 
Was N'lturu's all : Aurora couid not be 

Nor would be thus :— the dirf'crence in them 

Was such as lies between a liower and gem. 

Lix. 

Having wound upwiih this sublime comparison, 
Methinks we may proceed upon our narra- 
live, [warison ;" 

And, as my friend Scott says, I sound my 
Scott, tlie superlative of my comparative — 
Scott, who can paint your Christian knight or 
Saracen, 
Serf, lord, man, with such skill as none 
would share it, if 
There had nolbeen one Shakspeare andVoltaire, 
Of one or both of whom he seems the heir. 



I say, in my slight way I may proceed 
To play upon tlie surlace of humanity. 

I write the world, nor care if the world read, 
At least for this I cannot spare its vanity. 

My Muse hath bred, and still perhaps may 

breed [ it, I 

More foes by this same scroll: when 1 began 

Thought that it might turn out so — now I 
know it, 

But still 1 am, or was, a pretty poet. 

LXI. 

The conference or congress (for it ended 
As congresses of late do) of the Lady 

Adeline aud Don Juan rather blended 
Some acids with the sweets — for she ^\'as 
heady ; 

But, ere the matter could be marr'd or mended. 
The silvery bell rang, not for "diunerready," 

But lor that hour, call'd half-hour, given to 
dress. 

Though ladies" robes seem scant enough for less. 

LMI. 

Great, things were now to be achieved at table 

With massy plate for armour, knives and 

forks [able 

For weapons ; but what Muse since Homer's 
(His feasts are not the worstpart of his works) 

To draw up in array a single day-bill 

Of modern dinners ? where more mystery 
lurks. 

In soups or sauces, or a sole ragout, 

Than witchcsj b — ches, or physicians, brew. 



LXIII. 

There was a gooily "soupe a la bontie feinmc. 
Though God knows whence it cane from, 
there was, too, 

A lurbot for relief of those who cram, 
Kelieved with "dindon a la Parigeux ; 

There also was the siinier that 1 am ! 

How siiuil I get this gourmand sianzi 
ihrougli? — 

"Soupe a la Beauveau.' whose relief was dory 

Relieved itself by pork, for greater glory. 

LXIV 

But I must crowd all into one grand mess 
Or mass, lor should I stretch into detail. 

My Muse would run much more into excess, 
Than when some squeamish people deem 
her frail ; 

But though a 'bonne vivante," I must confess 
Her stomach's not herpeccant part; this tale 

However doth require some slight reieclion. 

Just to relieve her spirits from dejection. 



Fowls "a la Conde," slices eke of salmon, 

With " suuces Genevoises," and haunch a' 

venison ; [young Ammon — 

Wines, too, which might again have slain 

A man like whom I hope we sha'n't see 

many soon ; 

They also set a glazed Westphalian ham on. 

Whereon Apieius would bestow his benisou; 

And then there was champagne with foaming 

whirls, 
As white as Cleopatra's melted pearls. 

LXVI. 

Then there was God knows what " a I'Alle 

mande," [con" — ■ 

" A I'Espagnole," " timballe," and " salpi- 

With thirigs I can't withstand or understand, 

Though swallow'd with much zest upon the 

w ht)ie ; 

And " entremets" to piddle with at hand, 

Gently to lull down the subsiding soul ; 
W'hile great LucuUus' Robe triumphal muf 
Hes — [with truffles 

{There 's fame] — young partridge fillets, deck'd 



What are the fillets on the victor's br(»w 
To these? They are rags or dust. Where ii 
the arch 
Which nodiied to the nation's spoils be ow ? 
Where the triumphal chariots' haught) 
mai'ch ? 



DON JUAN. 



495 



Gone to where victories mnst like dinners go. 

l<'arthf;r 1 sliall not follow ihe research : 
BuioliI yt" nioiiein heroes with your cariridges, 
WLeu A-ili your names lend lubUe e.'eu to 
partridges ? 

LXVIII. 
Those truffles too are no bad accessor' ts, 

FoliowM by " pelils puiisd'aniour " — adish 
Of wliii'li perhaps ihe cookery rather varies, 

S") every one may dress it to his wish, 
Aci-ordinj^ to the best of dictionaries, 

Wliich encyidopcdize both tiesh and fish; 
Bui even sajis " c«>nhnues," it no less true is, 
There's pretty piclving in those "petils puits." 

LXIX. 

The mind is lost in mighty contemplation 
Onniellect expanded on t\\o courses; 

And indigestion's grand muitiplication 
llequires arithmetic beyond my forces. 

Who would supposejrom A dam's simple ration. 
That cookery could have call'd forth such 
resources, 

\5 form a science and a nomenclature 

From out the commonest demands of nature? 

LXX. 

Ihe glasses jingled, and the palates tingled; 

The diners of celebrity dined well ; 
The ladies with more moderation mingled 

In the feast, pecking less than I can tell: 
Also the younger men too : for a springald 

Can't, like ripe age, in gormandize excel, • 
But thinks lessof good eating than the whisper . 
jWhen seated next him) of some pretty lisper. 

LXXI. 

A.las! I must leave undescribed the gibier. 
The sahni, the conscmme, the puree, 

All which I use lomake my rhymes run glibber 
Than could roast beef i-n our rough John 
Bull way: 

f must not introduce even a spare rib here, 
"Bubble and squeak" would spoil my liquid 
lay, 

But T have dined, and must forego, alas! 

The chaste description even of a " becasse ;" 

Lxxir. 

And fruits, and ice, and all that ait refines 
From nature I'or ihe service of the gout — 

TuKle or the govt, — pronounce it as inclines 
Your stomach! Ere you dine, the Fiench 
will do; 

But CiJ'ier, there are sometimes certain signs 
Which prove plain English truer of the two. 

Hast ever had the gout i I have not had it — 

But I may have, and you too, reader, dread it 



I XXIII. 

The simple olives, best allies of ▼.ine. 
Must I pass over in my bill of fare? 

I nnist, although a iavouriie "plat" of mine 
In Spain, and Lncca, Athens, every where 

On ihem and bread 'twas ofi my luck to dim 
The grass my table-ciolh, hi open air. 

On Sunium or Hymettus, like Diogenes, 

Of whom half m\ philosophy the progeny is 

LXXIV. 

Amidst this tumult of fish, flesh, and fowl. 
And vegetables, all in laasquerade, 

The guests were placed according to their roll 
But various as the viu'ious meats display 'd; 

Don Juan sat next an " a rEspagnolc" — 
No damsel, but a dish, as halh been said; 

But so far like a lady, that 'twas drest 

Superbly, and contain'd a world of zest. 



By some odd chance too, he was placed between 

Aurora and the Lady Adeline — 
A situation difficult, I ween. 

Formal! therein, with eyes and heart, to dhie. 
Also the conference which we have seen 

Was not such as to encourage him to shine, 
For Adeline, addressing few words to him, 
With two transcendent eyes seem'd to look 
through him. 

LXXVI. 

I sometimes almost think that eyes have ears* 
This much is sure, that, outof earshot, things 

Are somehow echoed to the pretty dears. 
Of which 1 can't tell whence their knowledge 
springs. 

Like that same mystic music of the spheres. 
Which no (me h-ars, so loudly thougli itrings, 

'T is wonderful how oft the sex have heard 

Long dialogues — which pass'd without a wonl ' 

LXXVII. 

Aurora sat with that inditierence 

\\hich piques apreux chevalier — as it ought* 
Of all ofiences that's the worst offence, 

Which seems to hint you are not worth a 
thought. 
Now Juan, though no coxcomb in pretence, 

Was not exactly pleased to be so caught; 
Like a good ship entangled among ice, 
And after so much excellent advice. 

LXXVIII. 

To his gay nothings, nothing was replied. 
Or something which was nothing, as urbanitt 

Kequired. Aurora scarcely look'd aside, 
Nor even smiled enough for any ^anitj-. 



496 



DON JUAN. 



The deyil was in the girl ! Could it be pride? 

Or modesty, or absence, or inmiity ? 
-H-eaven knows! But Adeline's ruaiieious ejes 
Sparkled with her succesifui prophecies, 

LXXIX. 

And look'd as much as if to saj, " I said it ; " 
A kind of triumph 1 '11 not recommend, 

Because it sometimes, as I have seen or read it, 
Both in the case of lover and ot friend, 

Will pique a gentleman, for his own credit, 
To bring what was a jest to a serious end : 

Foi' all men prophesy what is or was, 

And hate those who won't let them, come to pass. 

LXXX. 

Juan was drawn thus into some attentions, 
Slight but select, and just enough to express, 

To females of perspicuous coniprehensious, 
That he would rather make them more than 
less. 

Aurora at the last (so history mentions, 

Though probably much less a fact than guess) 

So far rela.\'d her thoughts from their sweet 
prison, 

As once or twice to smile, if not to listen. 

LXXXI. 

From answering she began to question : this 
With her was rare ; and Adeline, who as yet 

Thought her predictions went not much amiss,' 
Began to dread she 'd thaw to a coquette — 

So very difficult, they say, it is 

To keep extremes Irom meeting, when once set 

In motion ; but she here too much refined — 

Aurora's spirit was not of that kind- 

LXXXII. 

But Juan had a sort of winning way, 
A proud humilily, if such there be, 

Which show'd such deference to what females 
say, 
As if each charming word were a decree. * 

Flis tact, too, temper'd him from grave to gay, 
And taught him when to be reserved or tree : 

He had the art of drawing people out, 

V^ uxiout iflcr *}2ing whac ne was aoout. 

LXXXIII. 

Aurora, who in her indifference 

Confounded him in common with the crowd 

Of flatterers, though she decm'd he had more 

sense [loud — 

Than whispering foplmgs, or than witlings 
Commenced (from such slight things will great 
commence) 

To feel that flaltcrj- which attracts the proud, 
Rather by defeience than compliment, 
\nd wins even by a delicate dissent. 



1 



LXXXIV. 

And then he had good looks ; — tiiat point was 
carried 

Nem. con. amongst the women, which I grieve 
Tosay leadsofttocrim con. with the married — 

A case which to th« jui'ies ^e may leave. 
Since with digressions we too long havetairied. 

Now though we know of old that looks deceive,' 
And always have done, somehow tliese good 

looks 
Make more imi^ression than the best of books. 

LXXXV. 

Aurora, who look'd more on books than faces, 
Was veiy young, although so very sage, " 

Admiring njore Minerva than (he Graces, 
Especially upon a pnnted j)age. 

But Virtue's self, with all her lightest lutes, 
Has not ihe natural stays of alrict old age; 

And Socrates, that model of all duty, 

Own'd to apenchant, though discreet.for beauty. 

iXXXVI. 

And girls of sixteen are thus far Socratic, 

But innocently so, as Socrates ; 
And really, if the sage sublime and Attic 

At seventy years had phantasies like these 
Which Plato in his dialogues dramatic 

Has shown, I know not why they should 
displease 
In virgins — alwaj's in a modest way, 
Observe ; for that with me 's a " sine qua."l'^o 

LXXXVII. 

Also observe, that, like the great Lord Coke 
(See Littleton), Avhene'er I have express'd 

Opinions two, which at first sight may look 
Twin oppo.sites, the second is the best. 

Perhaps I have a third too, in a nook. 

Or none at all — which seems a sorry jest: 

But if a writer should be quite consistent. 

How could he possibly show things existent? 

LXXXVIII. 

If people contradict themselves, can I 

Help contradicting ihcm, and every body, 

Even my veracious si:;if? — Bnt that's a lie: 
I never did so, never will — how should I? 

He who doubts all things notiiing can deny: 
Truth's fountains may be clear — her slreamj 
are muddy. 

And cut through such canals of contradictiorij 

That she must often navigate o'er fiction. 

LKXXIX. 

Apologue, fable, poesy, and parable. 

Are false, but may be render'd also true, 

By those whj sow them in aland that 's arable 
'Tis wonderful what fable will not do! 



DON JUAN. 



49 r 



r is Hiul It makes reality more bearable : 

B«< what's reality? Who has its clue? 
Philo.ophy? No: she too much rejects. 
Relijjiou? .Te*; but which of all her sects? 

xc. 

S ju craillionsmustbe wrong.that'spretty clear; 

I erhaps it may turn out that all were right. 
Go i help us ! Since we have need on our career 

'i o keep om- holy beacons always bright, 
T istime thatsome new prophet should appear, 

Or old indulge man with a second sight. 
Opinions wear out in some tliousand years, 
\^'itht)ut a small refreshment from the spheres. 



But here again, why will I thus entangle 
Myself with metaphysics? None can hate 

So much as 1 do any Kind of wrangle ; 
And yet, such is my folly, or my fate, 

I always knock my head against some angle 
About the present, past, or future state: 

i'et I wish well to Trojan and to Tyrian, 

For I was bred a moderate Presbyterian. 



13uf though I am a temperate theologian. 
And also meek as a metaphysician. 

Impartial between Tyrian and Trojan 
As Eldon on a lunatic commission, — 

In politics ray duty is to show John 

Bull something oflhe lower world's condition. 

It makes mv blood boil like the springs of 
Hecia,l'l • [law. 

To see men let these scoundrel sovereigns break 

XCIII 

But politics, and policy, and piety, 

Are topics which I sometimes introduce, 
;)l oaly for the sake of their variety, 
'5ut as subservient to a moral use ; 

£ uuno my business is to dress society, 
Auil iiurf witl; sage thai very verdant goose. 

And now, that we may furnish with some 
matter all 

Tastes, we are going to try the supernatural. 

xciv. 
And now I will give up all argument; 

.iua positively hencei'orth no temptation 
Siaall ■' fool me to the top up of my i3ent • " — 

Yes, I '11 begin a thorough reformation. 
Indeed, I never knew what people meant 

By deeming that my Muse's conversation 
\Vu.> dangerous ; — I think she is as harmless 
As aorae who labour more and yet may chaim 
less. 



Grim leader I did you ever see a ghost? 

No ; but you have heard — I understand— 
be dumb ! 
And don't legrel the time you may have lost, 

For you have got that pleasure still to come 
And do not think 1 mean to sneer at most 

Of these things, or by ridicule bt;numb 
That source of the sublime and the mysterious ;— 
For certain reasons my belief is serious. 



Serious? Voulaugh; — you may: that wiill not, 
My smiles must be sincere or not at all. 

I say I do believe a haunted spot 

Exists — and Avhere ? That shall I not recuil, 

Because I 'd rather it should be forgot, 

" Shadows the soul of liichaid " may ajipal. 

Inshort,uponihatsubjectrvesome(}ual'.ii5V'.iy 

Like tho^e of tiie philosopher of Malmsbuiy. 

xcvii. 
The night — (I singby night — sometimes an owl, 

And now and then a nightingale) — is dim, 
And the loud shriek of sage Minerva's \'o\\\ 

Katllcs around me her (iiscordunl hymn : 
Old portraits from old waiis upon me scowl— 

I wi>h toheaven they would uotlooksogrnn; 
The dying embers ilwindle in the grate — 
I think too that I have sate up too late: 

XCVIII. 

And therefore, though lis by no means my 
way [things 

To rhyme at noon — when I have other 
To think of, if I ever think — I say 

I feel some chilly midnight shudderings, 
And prudently postpone, until mid-day, 

Treating a topic which, alas! but bring.-? 
Shadows ; — but you must be in ray condition 
Before you learn to call this superstition. 

XCIX. 

Between two worlds life hovers like a star, 
'Twixt night and morn, upon the horizon s 
verge 
How little do we know that which we are I 
How less what we may be ! The eierns) 
surge 
On time and tide rolls on and bears afar 

Our bubbles; as the old burst new emerga, 
Lash'd from the foam of aget. ; while ihf 

gi-aves 
Of empires heave b-t like some passing wave* 



33 



3k 



498 



DON JUAN. 



IBon 3juan. 



CANTO THE SIXTEENTH. 



^HB antique Persians taught three useful 
things, [truth. 

To draw the bow, to ride, and speak the 
Vhh was the mode of Cyrus, best of kings — 

A mode adopted since by modern youih. 
8ow^s have they, gtneially with two striijgs ; 

Hoi ses they ride wiihout lemorse or ruth ; 
At spealung iruth perhaps they ai'e less clever, 
But draw the Icng bow belter now than evei*. 

II. 
The cause of this effect, or this defect, — 

" For this ed'ect defective comes by cause," — 
Is what 1 have not leisure to inspect ; 

But this I must say in my own applause, 
Of aU the Muses that I recollect, 

^\ Lutc'cr may be her follies or her flaws 
In some things, mine's beyond all conuadic- 

tiou 
The most sincere that ever dealt in fiction. 



And as she treats all things, and ne'er retreats 
From any thing, this epic will contain 

A wilderness of ibe most rare conceits, [vain. 
Which you might elsewhere hope to hndin 

"T is true there be some bitters with the sweets, 
Yet mix'd so slightly, that you can't com- 
plain. 

But v/onder they so few are, since niv tale is 

' De rebus cunctis et quibusdam aUis." 

IV. 

But of all truths which she has told, the mos* 
True is that which she is about to tell 

I said it 'vas a story of a ghost — 

What then ? I only know it so befell. 

Have you explored the limits of the coast, 
W here all the dwellers of the eaith must 
dwell ? [as 

Tis time to strike such puny doubters dumb 

The sceptics who would not beheve Columbus. 

V. 

Sorae. p<K)pIe would impose now with authority, 
Turi'iii'sorMonmouihGeoflVy'sChroui -le; 

Men w KJse histoiicai siipurioiity 
Is a. vays greatest at a miracle. 



But Saint Augustine has the gre£.t priority, 
\^'ho bids ail men believe the impossible. 
Because 'ti» so. Who nibble scribble, q.ui'o» 

• ble, he 
Quiets at once with " quia impossibile.'* 

VI. 

ind therefore, mortals, cavil not at all ; 

Believe: — if 'tis improbable, you mutt. 
And if it is impossible, you sliall : 

'Tis always best to take things upon tiTiSt. 
I do not speak profanely, to recall [jus^ 

Those holier mysteries which the wise and 
]?eceive as gospel, and which grow more rooted, 
As all truths must, the more they are disputeil ; 



I merely meant to say what Johnson said, 
That in the coiu-se of some six thousabi 
years, 

All nations have believed that from the dead 
A visitant at intervals appears ; 

And what is strangest upon this strange head, 
Is, that whatever bar the reason rears [still 

'Gainst such belief, there 's something strongett 

In its behalf, let those deny who will. 



The dinner and the soiree too were done. 
The supper too discuss'd, the dames admired, 

The banqueteers haddropp'd offonebyone— 
The song was silent, and the dance expired: 

The last thin petticoats were vanish'd, gone 
Like fieccy clouds into the sky retired, 

And nothing brighter gleam"d through the 
saloon 

Than dying tapers — and the peeping moon 

IX. 

The evaporation of a joyous day 

Is like the last glass of champagne, withou 
The foam which made its virgin bumper gay • 

Or like a system coupled w iih a doubt ; 
Or like a soda bottle when its spray 

Has sparkled and let half its spirit out; 
Or like a oiiiow left by stoims behind, 
Without the animation of the wind ; 

X. 

Or like an opiiite, which brings troubled rest, 
Or none; or like — like nothing that ( 
know 

Except itself; — such is the human breast; 
A tiling, of which similitudes can show 

No real likeness, — like the old Tyrian vest 
Dyed purple, none at present can tell h(.V, 

If from a shell-tish or from cochineal.'''2 

So periiOu every tyrant's robe piecemeal ! 



DON JUAN. 



499 



Ti'tt next t dressing for a rout or ball, 

U.idiessing is a woe ; our robe de chauibre 

May sii like ihat ofNcssn.s, and recall 

I'hoiight.s quite as yellow, but less clear 
liiari amber. 

Titn-i e\c-laim"d, " I've lost a day !" Of all 
The nights and days most people can re- 
iii'JtBber, 

(I have bail ofbotb, some not to be disdaiu'd 

I \vj>h they d state how many they have gain' . 

X'!. 

And Juan, on retiring :br the night, [i -sed : 
Fell restless, and norplex'd, and ,ompro- 

Ile ihought Aurora llitby's eyesmo.e bright 
Than Adeline (such is advice) advis^ ' • 

If he had lamwn exactly his o n plig"-., 
He probably would have philosophised • 

A tjici.i. resource to all nd ne'er denied 
Til: wanted ; tb«» lOre Juan only sigb'd. 

XIII. 

fie sigh'd ; — the next resource is the full moon. 
Where all sighs are deposited ; and now 

It happen'd luckily, the chaste orb shone 
As clear as such a climate will allow ; 

And Juan's mind was in the proper tone 
To hail her with the apostrophe — " O thou !" 

Of amatory egotism the Tuism, 

Which further to explain would be a truism. 

XIV. 

But lover, poet, or astronomer. 

Shepherd, or swain, whoever may IjeKold, 
Feel some abstraction when they gaze on her : 

Great thoughts we catch from thence (be- 
sides a cold 
Sometimes, unless my feelings rather cit) ; 

Deep secrets to her rolling light are told ; 
The ocean's tides and mortals' brains «he sways, 
And also hearts, if there be U-uth iu lays. 

XV 

Juan felt somewhat pensive, and disposed 
For contemplation rather than his pillow : 

The Gothic chamber, where he was enclosed, 
Letinthe rippling sound of the lake's billow, 

With all the mystery by midnight caused : 
Below this window waved (of course) a 
willow ; 

And he stood gazing out in the cascade 

That flash'd and after da-^en'd in the s-ha !e. 

XVI. 

Ul)ou his table or his toilet, — which 
Of these is not exactly ascertain'd, — 

(I btJUe this, for 1 am cautious to a pitih 
C< nit-cty, where a 'act is to be gain'(i.^ 



A lamp buru'd high, while he leant frcm f 
niche. 

Where many a Gothic ornament rcmain'd 
In cbiselld stone and painted glass, and ail 
Th t tune has left our fathers of llieir hall. 

XVII. 
r'aen, as the night was clear though cold, h« 
threw [Ibrlh 

His chamber door wide open — an-^ went 
Into a gallery, of a sombre hue [worth, 

Long, furnish'd with old rlciures of great 
Of knights and dames heroic and chaste too. 

As doubtless sbo-Ja be people of high biilh 
But by dim lights the portraits of the dead 
Have somethi g ghastly, desolate, and dread 

XVIII 

1 he forms of the grim knight and pictuied 
saint 

Look living in the moon ; and as you turn 
Backward and forward to the echoes faint 

Of your own footsteps — voices from the urn 
Appear to wake, and shadows wild and quaint 

Start from the frames which fence tberi 
aspects stern. 
As if to ask how you can dare to keep 
A vigil there, v/bere all but death should su-ep 

XTX 

And the pale smile of beauties in the grave. 

The charms of other days, in starlight 
gleams. 
Glimmer on high ; their buried locks still wave 

Along the canvass ; their eyes glance hkc 
dreams 
On ours, or spars within some dusky cave. 

But death is imaged in their shado^^y beams. 
A picture is the past ; even ere its frame 
Be gilt, who sate hath ceased to be the same. 

XX. 
As Juan mused on mutability 

Or on his mistress — terms synonymous — 
No sound except the echo of his sigh 

Or step ran sadly through that antique 
house ; 
When suddenly he heard, or thought so, nigh. 

A supernatural agent — or a mouse. 
Whose little nibbling rustle will tmbi rass 
Most people as it plays along the arras. 

XXI. 

It wius no mouse, but lo ! a monk, array'd 
Ii! cowl and beads, and dusky garb, ap. 
pcar'd, 
Now in I e mooniigni, ana nnw rajtsed in smulc 
With -tei's tiiai trcul as bea-y, \ct uubeiU-d; 



500 



DON JUAN. 



flis garments only a slight murmur made ; 

He moved as shadowy as the sisters weird, 
Bat slowly ; and as he passed J nan by, 
Glanced, without, pausing, on him a bright eye. 

XXII. 
Ju?n was petrified ; he had heard a hint 

Of sui;h a spirit iu these halls r>f old, [in't 
Eut thought, like most men, there .vas nothing 

Beyond the rumour which such spots lut 
fold, 
Coin'd from surviving superstition's mint, 

Which passes ghosts in cui-reucy like gold. 
But rarely seen, like gold compared with paper. 
And did he see this ? or was it a vapoui ? 

XXIIl. 

Once, twice, thrice pass'd, repass'd — the thing 
of air, 

Or earth beneath, or heaven, or t' otherplace: 
And Juan gazed upon it with a stare. 

Yet could not speak or move ; but, on its base 
A.S stands a statue, stood : he felt his hair 

Twine like a knot of snakes around his face; 
He tax'd his tongue for words, which were not 

granted. 
To ask the reverend person what he wanted. 

XXIV. 
rhe third time, after a still longer pause. 

The shadow pass'd awav — but where? the 
hall ' \ 

Was long, and thus far there was no great cause ,. 

To think his vanishing unnatural: [laws 
Doors there were many, through which, by the • 

Of physics, bodies whether short or tall 
Might come or go ; but Juan could not state 
Through which the spectre seem'd to evaporate. 

XXV. 

lie stood — ^how long he knew not, but it- 
seem'd [eyes' 

An age— expectan'., powerless, wit.b his 
Strain'd on the spot where first tne ligure 
glcam'd ; 

Then by degrees recall'd his energies, 
Anu w(juld have pass'd the whole o ft" as a dream. 

But could not wake ; he was, he did surmise, 
•^''aking already, and leturn'd at length 
Sack to hi* "hamber, shorn of half his strength, 

XX I. 

.'ill ihorc wa^ ft-j Lo ictt it: still his taper 
Burnt, and not blue, as modest tapers use, 

Receiving sprites with sympathetic vapour; 
He rubb'd his eyes, and they did notre!'use 

Their office: he took up an old newspaper; 
The paucr was right easy to peruse ; 

He read an article the king attacking, 

Ai! i a long e. logy of " patent blackiag." 



XXVII. 

This savour'd of this world ; but Lis hand shook 
He shut his door, and after having read 

A paragraph, I think about Home Tooke, 
Undrest, and rather slowly went to bed. 

There, couch'd all snugly on his pillow's nook. 
With what he had seen his phantasy he fedj 

And though it was no opiate, slumber crept 

wpon him by degrees, and so he slept. 

XXV III. 

He wofttj i/etlice'' ; and, as may be supposed, 
Ponder'u -on his visitant or vision. 

And whether k mght not to be disclosed, 
At risk of benjg quizz'd for superstition 

The more he thought, the more his mind was 

posed: ■ 

In the mean time, his valet, whose precision 

Was great, because his master brook'd no less, 

Knock'd to inform him it was time t^ dress. 

XXIX. 

He dress'd; and like young people he was wont 
To take some trouble with his toilet, but 

This morning rather sp.'^iit less time upoa'i^ 
A.side his very mirror soon was put ; 

His curls fell negligently o'er his front, fcut. 
His clothes were not curb'd to their usuaJ 

His very neckcloth's Gordian knot was tied 

Almost an hair's breath too much on one side. 



And when he walk'd down into the saloon, 
He sate him pensive o'er a dish of tea, 

Which he perhaps had not discover'd soon. 
Had it not happen'd scalding hot lo be, 

Which made him have recourse unto his spoon; 
So much di.slrait he was, that all could .see 

That something was the matter — .\deJine 

The first — but what she could not well divine, 

XXXI. 

She look'd, and saw him pale, and turn'd ai 
pale [mutter'd 

Hersell'; then hastily look'd dovvu, avd 
Something, but what 's not stated in my tale. 

Lord Henry said, his mudin was lUbutter'd 
The Duchess of Fitz-Fuike play 'd with her veil. 

And look'd at Juan hard, but nothing utterd 
Aurora Raby with her large aarii eyes 
Survey'd him with a kind of calm surprise, 

XXXII. 

But seeing him all cold and silent still, 
And every body wondering more or less^ 

Fair Adeline inquired, " If he were ill ?" 
He started, autl sai<f , " Yea — no— rethe»-» 
yes." 



DON JUAN. 



501 



The family physician bad gi?eat skill, 

And being present, now began to express 
His reaiiiness to leel his pulse and tell 
Tlic cause, but Juan said, " He svas quite well." 

XXXIII. 

" Quite well ; yes, — no." — These answers were 
mysterious, 
And yet his looks appear'd to sanction both, 

However they might savour of delirious ; 

: Something like illness of a sadden growth 

Weigh'd on his spirit, though by no means 
serious : 
But for the rest, as he himself seem'd loth 

To stiite the case, it might be ta'en for granted, 

It was not the physician that he wanted. 

: XXXIV. 

Lord Henry, who had now discuss'd his cho- 
colate, 
Also the muffin whereof he complain'd, 

Said, Juan had not got his usual look elate, 

,■ At which he marveil'd, since it had not 
rain'd : 

Then ask'd lirr Grace what news were of the 

duke of jate.? [pain'd 

Her Grace replied, his Grace was rather 

With some slight, light, hereditary twinges 

Of gout, \\ hich rusts aristocratic hinges. 

XXXV. 

Then Henry turn'd to Juan, and address'd 
A few words of condolence on his stai- : 

" Yon look, ■ quoth he, " as if you had had 
your rest 
Broke in upon by the Black Friar of late." 

"What friar?" said Juan; ar-^ he did his best 
To put the question with an air sedate. 

Or careless ; but the effort was not valid 

To hinder him from growing still more pallid. 

XX XVI. 

"Oh; have vou never heard of the Black 
Friar ?173 

The spiritof these walls?" — "In truth not I." 
"Why Fame — but Fame you know's some- 
times a liar — 

Tells an odd story, of whio> by and hy : 
ATiether with time the spectre has grown shyer. 

Or that our sires had a more gifted eye 
For such sights, though tbe tale is half believed, 
The friar of ate has not been oft perceived. 

XXXVII, 

" The last time was " — " I pray," said 

Adeline — 
(Who watch 'd the changes of Don Juan's 
brow, 
And from its context thought she could divit.5 
Connections strong'cr than he chy&e to avow 



With this same legend; — " \: you but design 
To jest, you'll choose some other thenir, j;ja 
now. 
Because the present tale has oft been told. 
And is not much improved by giowing old." 

XXXVIII. 

"Jest!" quoth Milor; "why, Adeline, y'xi 

know [n:-t)oii — 

That we ourselves — 't was in the hon> y 

Saw " — " Well, no matter, 'twas so long 

ago ; 
But, come, I '11 set your story to a tune." 
Graceful as Dian, when she draws her bow, 
She seized her harp, whose strings wer^ 
kindled soon 
As toucli'd, and plaintively began to play 
The ail of " 'T was a Friar of Orders Gray." 

XXXIX, 

" But add ihe words," cried Henry, " vhich 
you made ; 

For Adeline is half a poetess," 
Turning round to the rest, he smiling said. 

Of course the others could not bat express 
In courtes) their wish to see display'd 

By one three talents, lor there were no less — 
The voice, the words, the harper's skill, at once 
Could hardly be united by a dunce. 

XL. 

After some fascinating hesitation, — 

The chaiming of these charmers, who s-fem 
bound, 

I can't tell why, to this dissimulation, — 
Fair Adeline, with eyes fix'd on the ground 

At first, then kindling into animation, 

Added htrr sweet voice to the lyric sound. 

And sang with much simplicity, — a merit 

Not the less precious, that we seldom het.r it- 

1. 

Beware! beware! of the Black Friar, 

Who sitteth by Norman stone, 
For he mutters -his prayer in ihen:idn:ght aii 

And his mass of the days that are gone. 
When the Lord of the Hill, AmundeVille 

Made Norman Church his prey. 
And cxpell'd the friars, or.e fritu- still 

Would not be (.hi.vcn a;s\-iy. 



Though he cam.- is. hJ.i might, w"«b King 
licn'^-'s ni_\t, 

Tc ♦.urn churcn landa to 'ay. 
With STord in nand, and torcli to ligLi; 

Their vails, if they said nj-.y ; 



502 



DON JUAN. 



A monk remain'd, unchased, unchain'd, 
And he did uot seem tbrm'd of ciay, 

For he's seen in the porch, and he's seen in 
the church. 
Though he is not seen by day. 



And whether for good, or whether for ill, 

It is not mine to say ; 
But still with the house of Amundeville 

He ubidelh night and day. 
fiy the marriage-bed of their lords, 'tis said, 

He flits on the bridul eve; 
And 'tis held as faith, to their bed of death 

He comes — but not to grieve. 



When an heir is born, he's heard to mourn, 

And when aught is to befall 
That ancient line, in the pale moonshine 

He walks from hall to hall. 
His form you may trace, but not his face, 

'Tis shadow'd by his cowl: [tween. 

But his eyes may be seen from the folds be- 

And they seem of a parted soul. 



fVit beware! beware I of the Black Friar, 

He still retains his sway, 
J-'ur he is yet the church 's heir 

Whoever may be the lay. 
Amundeville is lord by day, 

But the monk is lord by night ; 
Nor wine nor wassail conld raise a vassal. 

To question that friar's right. 

6. 

Say nought to him as he walks the hall, 

And he'll say nought to you ; 
He sweeps along in his dusky pall, 

As o'er the grass the dew. 
Then grammercyl for the Black Friar; 

Heaven sain liim ! fair or foul. 
And whatsoe'er may be his prayer, 

Lot ours be for his souL 



The lady's Toice ceased, and the thrilling wires 

Died from the touch that kindled them tc 

sound ; [pires 

And the pause follow'd, which when song ex- 
Pervades a moment those v.ho listen round; 

And then of course the circle much admires. 
Nor less applauds, as in politeness bound, 

The tone, the feelings, and the execution. 

To the perforaaer's diffident confusion. 



Fair Adeline, though in a carelcrs way, 
As if she rated such accomplishment 

As the mere pastime of an idle day. 

Pursued an instant for her o\\ u content. 

Would nowandthenas 'twerewil/ioiii display 
Yet wiik display in fact, at times relent 

To such performances with haughty smile, 

To show she could, if it were worth her whilu 

XLIII. 

Now this (but we will whisper it aside) 
Was — pardon the pedantic illusiration — 

Trampling on Plato's pride with greater pride 
As did the Cynic on some like occasion ; 

Deeming the sage would be much moititiea. 
Or thrown into a philosophic passicm, 

For a spoilt carpet — but the " Attic Bee " 

Was much consoled by his own repartee. 

XLIV. 

Thus Adeline would throw into the shade 
(By doing easily, whene'er she chose, 

What dilettanti do with vast parade) 

Their sort of half profession ; for it grows 

To something like this when too oft display'd 
And that it is so every body knows, 

Who have heard Miss That or This, or Lady 
T'other, 

Show off — to please their company or mother. 

XLV. 

Oh! the long evenings of duets and trios! 

The admirations and the speculations ; 
The " Mamma Mia's!" and the "Amor Mio's!" 

The " Tanti palpili's" on such occasions : 
The " Lasciami's," and quavering ".-\ddio's !" 

Amongst our own most musical of nations. 
With " Tu mi chamas's" from Portingale, 
To soothe our ears, lest Italy should fail. 

XLVI. 
In Babylon's bravui'as — as the home 

Heart-ballads of Green Erin or Gray High- 
lands, 
That bring Lochaber back to eyes that roam 

O'er, far Atlantic continents or islands, 
The calentures of music which o'ercome 
All mountaineers with dreams that they are 
nigh lands, 
No more to be beheld but in such visions — 
Was Adeline well versed, as compositions. 

XLVII. 

She also had a twilight tinge of "Slue," 
Could write rhymes, and compose more than 
she wrote, 

Made epigrams occasionally too 

Upon her friends, as every body oughu 



DON JUAN. 



503 



But still from that snblimer azure hue, 

So much the present dye, she was remote ; 
Was weak enough to deem Pope a great poet, 
And what was worse, was not ashamed to 
show it. 

XLf II. 

Aurora — since we are touching upon taste, 
Which now-a-days is the thennometer 

By whose degrees all characters are class'd — 
Was more Shakspearian, it' I do not eiT. 

The worlds beyond this world's pei-plexing 
waste 
Had more of her existence, for in her . 

There was a depth of feeling to embrace 

Thoughts, boundless, deep, but silent too as 
Space. 

XLIX. 
Not so her gi-acious. graceful, graceless Grace 

The full-grown Hebe of Fitz-Fulke, whose 
mind. 
If she had any, was upon her face. 

And that was of a fascinating kind. 
A little turn for mischief you might trace 

Also thereon, — but that 'snot much; we find 
Few females without some such gentle leaven, 
tor fear we shoidd suppose us quite in heaven. 

L. 

I have not heard she was at all poetic. 

Though once she was seen reading the " Bath 

Guide," [pathetic. 

And " Hayley's Triumphs," which she deem'd 

Because she said }ier temper had been tried 
So much, the bard had really been jirophetic 

Of what she had gone through with — since 
a bride. 
But of all verse, what most ensured her praise 
Were sonnets to herself, or " bouts rimes." 

LI. 
T were difficult to say what was the object 

Of Adeline, in bringing this same lay 
To bear on what appear'd to her tie subject 

Of Juan's nervous feelings on that day 
Perhaps she merely had the simple project 

To laugh him out of his supposed dismay; 
Perhaps she might wish to confirm him in it, 
Though why I cannot say — at least this minute. 

LII. 

But so far the immeduxte effect 

Was to restore him to his self-propriety, 

V thing quite necessary to th« elect. 
Who wish to take the tone of their society; 

In which you cannot be too circumspect, 
Whether the mode be persiflage or piety. 

But wear the newest mantle of hypocrisy,' 

On pain of much displeasing the gynocracy.''4 



Liri. 

And therefore Juan now began to rally 

His spirits, and without more explanation ' 

To jest u])on such themes in many a sally. 
Her Grace too,als0 seized the same occasion, 

With various similar remarks to tally. 

But wish'd for a still more detail'd uarrutio 

Of this same mystic friars curious doin^^s. 

About the present family s deaths and woo-n^ 

LIX. 

Of these few could say more than has been 

said ; [stitiou 

Tliey pass'd as such things do, for super- 

Witli some, while others, who had moie in 

dread [dition ; 

The theme, half credited the strange ira- 

And much was talk'd on all sides on that head • 

l>utJuan,whencross.question'd on the vision 

■\^'hich some supposed (though he had noi 

avow'd it) 
Had stirr'd him, answer'd in away to cloud il, 

LV. 

And then, the mid-day having worn to one. 
The company prepared to separate ; 

Some to their several pastimes, or to none. 
Some wondering't was so early, some so late. 

There w^as a goodly matcii too, to be run 
Between some greyhounds on my lord's 
estate, 

And a young race-horse of old pedigice, 

jNIatch'd for the spring, whom several weni, to see. 

LVI. 

There was a picture-dealer who had brought 
A special Titian, warranted original, 

So precious that it was not to be bought, 
Though princes the possessor were besieging 
all. 

The king himself had cheapen'd it, but thought 
The civil list he deigns to accept (obliging all 

His subjects by his gracious acceptation) — 

Too scanty, in these times of low taxation. 

LVIl. 

But as Lord Henry was a connoisseur, — 
The friend of artists, if not arts, — the owner, 

With motives the most classical and pure. 
So that he would have been the very donor, 

Rather than seller, had his wants been fewer, 
So much he deem'd his patronage an himour, 

Had brought the capo d'opera''^^ not tor sale, 

But for his judgment — never known to fail. 

I.VIII, 

There was a modern Goth, I mean a Gothic 
Bricklayer of Babel, call'd an architect. 



;.;504 



m(m JUAN. 



Brought to survey these grey walls, which 
though so thick [de!'ect; 

Might ha.'C irom time acquired some slight 
Who a ter rLimmaging the Abbey through thick 
And thin, produced a plan wii-ereby to erect 
New buildings of correctest conformation, 
And throw down old, which he call'd restora- 
tion. 

LIX. 

The cost would be a trifle — an "old song," 
fiet to some thousands ('t is the usual harden 

Of that same tune,when people hum it long)— 
The price would speedily repay its worth ia 

Au edifice no less sublime than strong, - 
By which Lord Henry's good taste would 
go forth in 

Its glory, through all ages shining sunny. 

Fur Gothic daring shown in English money. 

LX. 

There were two lawyers busy on a mortgage 
Lord Henry wish'd to raise for a new pur- 
chase ; 
Also a lawsuit upon tenures burgage, 

And one on tithes, which sure are Discord's 

torches, 

'^""Kindling Religion till she throws down ^er gage, 

; ; " Untying" squires " to fight against the 

•'^^^'[. churches;" [man, 

There was a prize ox, a prize pig, and plough- 

For Henry was a sort of Sabine showman. 

LXI. 

There were two poachers caught in a steel trap. 
Ready for gaol, their place of convalescence; 

There was a country girl in a close cap 
And scaiiet cloak (I hate the sight to see, 
bls^i.: since— 

Since — since — in youth.I had the sad mishap — 
13ut luckily I have paid few parish foes since) : 

That scarlet cloak, alas ! unclosed with rigour,' 

Presents the problem of a double figiu-e, 

LXII. 

A reel within a bottle is a mystery. 

One can't tell how it e'er got in or out ; 

Therefore the present piece nf natural history 
1 leave to those who are fond of sol ving doubt ; 

And merely state, though not fortheccmsistory, 
Lord Henry was a justice, and that Scout 

The constable, beneath a warrant's banner. 

Had bagg'd this poacher upon Nature's manor. 

'.". LXIII. 

^^ow justices of peace must judge all pieces 
Of mischief of all kinds, and keep the game 
And morals of the country from caprices 
Of those who have nolaliceut;e forthe same; 



And of all things, excepting tlihM ana leai 
Perhaps these are most difficult to tame : 
Preserving partridges and pretiy \»>i,?rv« 
Are puzzles to the most precautious l)en<:iur« 

LXIV. 

The present culprit was extremely pais. 
Pale as if painted so; her cheek beiuj.!Vea 

By nature, as in higher dames less hale 
'T is white, at least when iheyjustnstj'frna 
bed. 

Pei-haps she was ashamed of seeming fraii, 
Poor soul ! for she was country born and 
. bred, 

And knew no better in her immorality 

Than to wax white — foi blushes are forquality 

LXV. 

Her black, bright, dow^lcast, yet espiegle e)e, 
Had gather'd a large tear into its corner. 

Which the poor thing at times essay'd to ary 
For she was not a sentimental niournei' 

Parading all her sensibility. 

Nor insolent enough to scora the scoraer, 

But stood in trembling, patient tribulation, 

To be call'd up for her examination. 

LXVI. 

Of course these groups were scatter'a nere aitd 

there, 
Not nigh the gay saloon of ladies gent. 
The lawyers in the study ; and in air 

The prize pig, ploughman, poachers ; the 
men sent 
From.town, viz. architect and dealer, were 

Both busy (as a general in his tent 
Writing despatches) in their several station!). 
Exulting in their brilliant lucubrations. 

LXVII. 

But this poor girl was left in the gi-eat hall, 
While Scout, the parish guardian of the fraii, 

Discuss'd (he hated beer yclept the " small") 
A mighty mug o^ moral double ale. 

She waited until Justice could recall 
Its kind attentions to their proper pale, 

To name a thing in nomenclature rather - 

Perplexing for most virgins — a child's father. 

LXVIII. 

You see here was enough of occupation 
For the Lord Henry, link'd with dogs and 
horses. 
There was much bustle too, and preparation 
Below stairs on the score of second courses 
Because, as suits'thcir rank and situation. 
Those who in counties have great, land 
resources 
Have "public days," when allmen may carouse, 
Thohgh not exactly what "s call'd '• opea 
house*' 



DON JUAN. 



505 



LXIX. 

B\it once a week or fortnight, aninvited, 
(Thus we translate a general invitation) 

AU country gentlemen, esquired or knighted, 
May drop in without cards, and take their 
station 

At the full board, and sit alike delighted 
With fashionable wines and conversation ; 

And, as liie isthmus of the grand connection, 

Talk o'er themselves the past and next elec- 
tion. 

J LXX. 

Lord Henry was a gioat electioneerer, 

Burrowing for b'>roughs like a rat or rabbit 

But county contests cost him rather dearer, 
Because the neighbouiing Scotch Earl of 
Giflgabbit [here; 

Had English iuduence, in the self-same sphere 
His son, the Honourable Dick Dicedrubbit, 

Wasmember for the "other interest" (meaning 

The same self-interest, withaditl'erentleaning). 



Courteous and caqtious therefore in his county. 
He was all things to all men, and dispensed 

To some civility, to others bounty, [menced 
And promises to all — which last com- 

To gather to a somewhat large amount, he 
Not calculating how much they condensed; 

But what with keepnig some, and breaking 
others. 

His word had the same value as another's. 

LXXII. 

A friend to freedom and freeholders — yet 
No less a friend to government — he held. 

That he exactly the just medium hit [pell'd, 
'Twixt place and patriotism — albeit com- 

Such was his spvereign's pleasm-e, (though 
unfit, 
H5 added modestly, when rebels rail'd,) 

To hold some sinecures he wish'd abolish'd, 

But that with them all law would be demo- 
lish'd. 

LXXIII. 

He was " free to confess"— (whence comes 
this phrase ? 

Is 't English:-' No — 't is only parliamentary) 
That innovation's spirit now-a-days [century. 

Had made more progress than for the last 
He would not tread a factious path to praise, 

Though for the public weal disposed to 
venture high ; 
As for his place, he could but say this of it. 
That tho fatigue was gieater man the profit 



LXXIV. 

Heaven, and his friends, knew that ai>rivat« 

life 

Had ever been his sole and whole ambition ; 

But could he quit his king in times of strife, 

Which threaten 'd the whoJe country \\ith 

perdition? [knife 

When demagogues would with a butcher's 

Cut through and tbroVi^!! 'c!: ' damnab'd 

incision !) [striugij 

The Gordian or the Oeordi-an knot, whose 

Have tied together commons, lords, and kings. 

LXXV. 

Sooner " come place into the civil list 

And champion him to the utmost" — he 
would keep it, 
fill duly disappointed or dismiss'd : 

Profit he cared not for, let others reap it ; 
But should I he day come when place ceased 
to exist, [weep it: 

The country would have far more cause to 
For how could it go on ? Explain who can. 
He gloried in the name of Englishman. 
LXX VI. 

He was as independent — ay, much more — 
Than those who were not paid for inde 
pendence. 

As common soldiers, or a common shore, 

Have in their several aits or parts ascend- 
ance 

O'er th^ irregulars in lust or gore, 

"Who do not give professional attendance. 

Thus on the mob all statesmen are as eager 

To prove their pride, as footmen to a beggar. 

LXXVII. 

All this (save the last stanza) Henry said. 
And thought. I say no more — I 've said 
too much ; 
For all of us have either heard or rend — 

Off — or upon the hustings — some slight such 
Hints I'rom the independent heart or head 

Of the oflicial candidate. I '11 touch 
No more on this — the dinner-bell hath rung, 
And grace is said ; the gi-ace I *Jxtaid have 
simg — 

Lxxviir. 
But I'm too late, and therefore must make 
play. 
'Twas a great banquet, such as Albion old 
Wa? wont to boast — as if a glutton's tray 

Were something very glorious to behold. 
But 'twas a public feast ind public day, — ■ 
Quite full, right dull, guests hot, anddishe> 
cold, 
Great plenty, much formality, small cheer, 
And every body out of their own sphere. 



506 



DON JUAN. 



LXXIX. 

The sqnires familiarly formal, and 

My lords and ladies proudly condescending; 
The very servants puzzling how to hand 
Their plates — without it might be too much 
bending [stand— 

From their high places by the sideboard's 
- Yet, like their masters, fearful of offending. 
For any deviation from the graces 
Might cost both man and master too — their 
places. 

LXXX. 

There were some hunters bold, and coursers 
keen, [deign'd to lurch ; 

Whose hounds ne'er en-'d, nor greyhoviuds 
Some deadly shots too, Septembrizers, seen 

Earliest to rise, and last to quit the search 

Of the poor partridge through his stubble 

screen. [chnrc]? 

There were some massy members of the, 

Takers of tithes, and makers of good matches' 

A.nd several who sung fewer psalms than 

catches. 

IXXXl. 

There were some counti-y wags too — and, alas 
Some exiles from the town, who had been 
driven 

To gaze, instead of pavement, upon grass. 
And rise at nine in lieu of long eleven. 

Andlo! upon that day it came to pass, 

I sate next that o'erwhelming son of heaven, 

The very powerful parson, Peter Pith, 

The loudest wit I e'er was deafen'd with. 

LXXXII. 

I knew him in his livelier London days, 

A brilliant diner out, though but a curate ; 

And not a joke he cut but earn'd its praise. 
Until preferment, coming at a sure rate, 

(0 Providence ! how wondrous are thy ways ! 

Who would suppose thy gifts sometimes 

obdurate ?) [Lincoln 

Gave him, to lay the devil who looks o'er 

A fat fen vicarage, itnd nought to think on. 

LXXXIII. 

Hisjokes were sennons,andhis sermons jokes; 
But both were thrown away amongst the 
fens ; 
For wi-t hath no great frienfl in aguish folks. 
No longer ready ears and short-hand pens 
Imoibed the gay bon-mot, or happy hoax. 
The poor priest was reduced to common 
sense, 
Or to coarse efforts very loud and long. 
To hammer a hoarse laugh from the thick 
throng 



LXXXIV. 

There is a difference, says the song " between 
A beggar and a queen," or wag (of late 

The latter worse used of the two we've seen— *• 
But we'll say nothing of affairs of state) 

A difference " 'twixt a bishop and a dean," 
A difference between crockery ware and plate^ 

As between English beef and Spartan broth — 

And yet gieat heroes have been bred by both 

LXXXV. 

But of all nature's discrepancies, none 

Upon the whole is greater than the difference 

Beheld between the country and the town, 
Of which the latter merits every preference 

From those who have few resources of their own 
And only think, or act, or feel, with reference 

To some small plan of interest or ambition — 

Both which are limited to no condition, 

LXXXVI. 

But " en avant !" The light loves languish o'er 
Long banquets and too many guests, although 

A slight repast makes people love much more, 
Bacchus and Ceres being, as wc know. 

Even from our grammar upwards, friends of 
yore 
With vivifying Venus, who doth owe 

To these the invention of champagne and 
truffles: [ruffles. 

Temperance delights her, but long fasting 

LXXXVII. 

Dully past o'er the dinner of the day; 

And Juan took his place, he knew not where. 
Confused, in the confusion, and distrait. 

And silling as if nail'd upon his chair 
Though knives and forks clank'd round as in 
a fray, 

He scem'd unconscious of all passing there. 
Till some one, with a groan, exprest a ^vish 
(Unheeded twace) to have a fin of fish. 

LXXXVII I. 

On which, at the third asking of the bans, 
He started; and perceiving smiles around 

Broadening to grins, he colour'd more than 
once, 
And hastily — as nothing can confound 

A wise man more than laughter from a dimce— 
Inflicted on the dish a deadly wound, 

And with such hurry, that ere he could curb it, 

He had paid his neighbour's prayer with haL 
a lurbot. 

LXXXIX. 

This was no bad mistake, as it occurr'd. 
The supplicator being an amateur ; 

But others, who were left with scarce a third, 
Were angry — as they well might, to be sure, 



DON JUAN. 



50? 



Thev wondor'd ho« a young man so absurd 

Lord Henry at hii table should endure • 
And this, and' bis not knowing how ranch oats 
Had fallen last market, costhis hobt three votes. 



rhey little knew, or might have sympathised, 

That he the night before had seen a ghost, 
A. prologue which but slightly harmonised 

With the substantial company engross'd 
By matter, and so mu(.-.h materialised, 

''I'hat one scarce knew at what to marvel most 
Of two things — how (the question rather odd is) 
Such bodies could have souls, or souls such 
bodies. 

xci. 
But what confused him more than smile or stare, 
- From all the 'squires and squiresses around, 
Who wonder'd at the abstraction of his air, 

Especially as he had been renowu'd 
For some vivacity among the fair, ., 

Even in the country circle's uaiTowbomid — 
;For little things upon my lord's estate 
Were good small talk for others still less 
great)— 

XCII. 

Was, that he caught Aurora's eye on his, 
And something like a smile upon her cheek. 

Now this he really rather took amiss: 

In those who rarely smile, their smile be- 
speaks 

A strong external motive; and in this 

Smile of Aurora's there was nought to pique 

Or hope, or love, with any of ihe wiled 

Which some pretend to trace in ladies' smiles. 

XCIIl. 

'T was a mere quiet smile of contemplation, 
Indicative of some surprise and pity; 

And Juan grew carnation with vexation. 
Which was not very wise, and still less witty. 

Since he had gain'd at least her observation, 
A most important outwork of the city — 

As Juan should have known, had not his senses 

By last night's ghost been driven from their 
defences. 

XCIV. 

But what was bad, she did not blush in turn, 
Nor seem embarrass'd — quite the contrary; 

Her aspect was as usual, still — not stern — 
And^he withdrew, but cast notdown, her eye, 

fet grew a little pale — with what? concern? 
I know not; but her colour ne'er was high — 

Though sometimes faintly tlush'd — and always 
clear, 

ils dceji seas in a sunny atmosphere. 



xcv. 
But Adeline was occupied by fame 

This day ; and watching, witching, Otu- 
descending 
To the consumers of fish, fowl, and game. 

And dignity with courtesy so blending, 
As all must blend whose part it is :o aim 

(Especially as the sixth year is ending) 
At their lord's, son's, or similar connection's 
Safe conduct thi-ough the rocks of re-elections. 

xcvi. 
Though this was most expedient on the whole, 

And usual — Juan, when he cast a glance 
Jn Adeline while playing her grand role. 

Which she w^ent through as though it were 
a dance, 
Betraying only now and then her soul 

By a look scarce preceptibly askance 
(Of weariness or scorn, began to feel 
Some doubt how much of Adeline was red//' 

xcvii. 
So well she acted all and every part 

By turns — with that vivacious versatility, 
Which many people take lor want of heart. 

They err — 'tis merely what is call'd mobility, 
A thing of teciperament and not ol' art. 

Though seeming so, from its supposed facili t)'; 
And false — though true ; for surely they 're 

sincerest. 
Who are strongly acted on by what is nearest. 

xcvni. 
This makes your actors, artists, and romancers. 

Heroes sometimes, though seldom — sages 
never : 
But speakers, bards, diplomatists, and dancers, 

I,ittlethat'sgreat,butmuch of what is clever; 
Most orators, but very few financiers, 

Though allExchequer chancellors endeavour, 
Of late years, to dispense with Cockers rigours, 
And grow quite figurative with their figures. 



The poets of arithmetic are they 

Who, though they prove not two and two 
to be 
Five, as they might do in a modest way, 

Flave plainly made it out that fourare three. 
Judging by w'hat they take, and what they 
pay. 

The Sinking Fund's unfathomable sea, 
That most unliqiiidating liquid, leaves 
The debt unsunk, yet sinks all it receivtav'^ 



508 



PQH JUAN. 



Whib Adeline dispensed her ah-s and graces, 
rhe lair Fiiz-Fulke seeind very much at 
:, «ase , 
rh<wghtwy \veli breil to quiz men to .heir faces, 

iler laughiag blue eyes with a glance could 
seize 
file riJiciiles of people in all places — 

1 bui iiouey uf your fa.shionuble bees — 
A.n\i siore 11 up lor misclnevous enjoyment; 
A-iiil/tliis al piesent was her kind employment. 

However, the day closed, as days must close ; 

'Ihe evening also waned — and cotfee came, 
Each carriage was announced, and ladies 
rose, 

And curtsying off, as curtsies country dame, 
Retiied : with most unfashionable bows 

Their docile esquires also did the same, ^^-y 
Delighted with their dinner and their Lost,r 
Bat with the Lady Adeline the most. 



Some praised her beauty: othershergreatgrace. 
The warmth olherpoliteness, whose sincerity 

Was obvious in each feature of her face, 
Whoie traits were radiant with the rays of 
verity, 

Yes ; she was truly worthy Jier high place ! 
No one could envy her deserved prosperity. 

And then her dress — what beautiful simplicity 

Draperied her form with curious felicity ! 



Meanwhile sweetAdeline deserved their praises, 

By an impartial indemnification 
For all her past exertion and soi't phrases, 

in a most edifying c-onversation, 
Which turn'd upon their late guests' miens and 
faces. 

And. families, even to the last relation; 
Their hideous wives, their • horrid selves and 

dresses, 
And truculent distortion of their tresses. 

CIV. - ,K)I'jfi 

True, she said little — 't was the rest that broke 

Forth into universal epigram ; 
But then 'twas to the purpose what she spoke: 

Like Addison's " faint praise," so wont to 
damn, 
Her own but served to set off every joke. 

As music chimes in with a molodrame. 
How sweet the task to shield an absert Iriend! 
1 dsk but this of mine, to not defend. 



cv. 

There were but two exceptions to this keen 
Skinnish of wits o'er the departed ; one 

Aurora, with her pure and placid mien ; 
And Juan, too, in general behind none 

In gay remark on what he had heard or seen 
Sate silent now, his usual spirits gone: 

In vain he heani the others rail or rally, 

He would not join them in a single sally. 



T is true he saw Aurora look as though 

She approved hissilence; sheperhapsmistooa 

Its motive for that charity we owe 

But seldom pay the absent, nor would look 

Farther; it might or it might not be so. 

But Juan, sitting silent in his nook, ,4 

Observing little in his reverie, -* 

Yet saw this much, which he was glad to see 



The ghost at least had done him this much good. 

In making him as silent as a ghost, 
If in the circumstances which ensued 

He gain'd esteem where it was worth the most.j 
And certainly Aurora had renew'd 

In him some feelings he had lately lost, -j 
Or harden'd ; feelings which, perhaps ideal, 
Are so divine, that I must deem them real: — 

CVIIl. 

The love of higher things and better days ; 

The unbounded hope,and heavenly ignorance 
or what is call'd the world, and the world's 
ways ; 

The moments when we gather from a glance 
More joy than from all future pride or praise. 

Which kindle manhood, but can ne er ea 
trance 
The heart in an existence of its own, 
Of which another's bosom is the zone. 



Who >vonld not sigli Aiai tk* Kuit^t$mt 
That hath a memory, or that had a heart ? 

Alas! her star must fade like that of Dian . 
Ray lades on ray, as years on years denafl 

Anacreon only had the soul to tie an 

Uuwithering rnjTtle round the unblunted dari. 

Of Eros : but though thou hast play'd us manj 
tricks. 

Still we respect thee, " Alma Venus Genetn*/" 



And full of sentiments, sublime as oijiowes 
Heaving between this world and worlds be- 
yond. 



D^'juiSf. 



5«9 



Don Juan, when the midnight hour of pillows 
Arrived, retired to his ; but to despond 

Rather than rest. Instead of poppies, willows 
Waved oer his couch; ho meditated, fond 

Of those sweet bitter thoughts which banish 
sleep, [weep, 

And make the worldling sneer, the youngling 

CXI. 

The night was as befoft; : he was undrcst. 
Saving his night-gown, which is an undress ; 

Completely " J^^ins culullc," and without vest; 
In short, he hardly could be clothed with less: 

But ajiprehensive of his spectral euest, 
He sate with feelings awkward to express 

(By those who have not had such visitations), 

Expectant of the ghosts fresh operations. 

CXII. 

And not in vain he listen d; — Hush! what'* 

that? 

I see — 1 see — Ah, no! — 'tis not— yet "tis- — 
Ye powers! it is the — the — the — Pooh! "he cat! 

The devil may take that stealthy pace of his ! 
So like a spiritual pit-a-pat, 

Or tiptoe of an amatory Miss, 
Gliding the first time to a rendezvous, 
And dreading the chaste echoes of her shoe. 

CXIII. 

Again — what is't? The wind? No, no, — thia 
time 
It is the sable friar as before. 
With awful footsteps regular as rhyme, 

Or (as rhymes may be in these days) much 
more. 
Again tln-ough shadows of the night sublime 
When deep sleep fell on men, and the world 
wore 
The starry darkness round her like a girdle 
Spangled with gems — the monk made his blood 
curdle. 

CXIV. 

A noise like to wet fingers drawn on glass, l'6 

Which sets the teeth on edge ; and a slight 

clatter, [pass, 

like showers which on the midnight gusts will 
Sounding like very supernatural water. 

Came over Juan's ear, which throbb'd, alas I 
For immaterialism "s a serious matter; 

So that even those whose faith is the most great 

In souls immortal, shun them tete-a-tete. 

cxv. 
Were his eyes open ? — Yes ! and his mouth too. 

Surprise has this effect — to make ot e dumb, 
Yetleavethegate whichelbquence slips through 

As wide as if a long speech were to come 



Nigh and more nigh the awful echoes drew, 

Tremendous to a mortal tympanum : 
His eyes were open, and (as was before 
Stated; his mouth. What open'd nextP^-the 
door 

CXVI 

It open'd with a most infernal creak. 

Like that of hell. "Lasciate ogni speranzi 

Voi che entrate I " The hinge seerned to speak. 
Dreadful as Dante's rhima. or this stanza; 

Or — but all words upon such themes aru 
weak: 
A single shade 's sufficient to entrance a 

Hero— for what is substance to a spirit? 

Or how is 't viatter trembles to come near it' 



The door flew wide, not swiftly, — but, as fly 
The sea-gulls, with a steady, sober flight — 
And then swung back; nor close — but stood 
awry, 
Half letting in long shadows on the light, - 
Which still . in Juan's candlesticks burn'd 
high, 
For he had two, both tolerably bright, 
And in the door-way, darkening darkness, 

stood 
The sable friar in his solemn hood. 

CXVIII. 

Don Juan shook, as erst he had been shaken 
The night before; but being sick of shaking, 

He first inclined to think he had been mis- 
taken ; 
And then to be ashanied of such mistaking; 

His own internal ghost began to awaken 
Within him, and to quell his corporal qua- 
king — 

Hinting that soul and body on the whole 

Were odds against a disembodied soul. 

cxix. 

And then his dread grew wrath, and his ^Tath 
fierce. 
And he arose.advanced — the shade retreated; 
But Juan, eager now the truth to pierce. 

Follow'd,his veins no longer co]d,biit heated. 
Resolved to thrust the mystery carte and 
tierce. 
At whatsoever risk of being defeated ; 
The ghost stopp'd, menaced, then retired, 

until 
He reach'd the ancient wall, then stood sion* 
stilL 



510 



DON JUAN, 



^uan put forth one arm — EternaJ powers I 
It ti.uch'd no soul, no body, but the wall, 

Onwhich the moonbeams fell in silvery showers, 
Chequer'd with all the tracery of the hall; 

He shudder'd, as no doubt the bravest cowers 
When he can't tell what 't is that doth appal. 

How odd, a single hobgoblin s non-entity 

Should cause more fear than a whole host's 
identity. 



But still the shade remain'd : the blue eyes 
glared, 

And rather vai-iably for stony death ; 
Vcl one tl.ini.' rather good the grave had spaied, 

The ghost had a remarkably sweet breath : 
A straggling curl show'd he had been fair-hair'd; 

A red i.p. with two rows of pearls beneath, 
Gleam'd forth, as through the casement's ivy 

shroud 
Tte moon peep'd, juat escaped from a giey 



And Juan, puzz-led, but still curious, throBt 
His. other arm forth — Wonder upon wondei*. 

It press'd upon a hard but glowing bust. 
Which beat as if there was a warm heart 
under. 

He found, as people on most trials must. 
That he had made at first a silly blunder, 

And that in his conliisioii he had caught 

Only the wall, instead of what he souglit, 

CXXUI. 

The ghost, if ghost it were, seem'd a sweel 
soul 
As ever lurk'd beneath a holy hood ; 
A dnnpled cliin, a neck of ivory, sto?e 

Forth into something much like flesh and 
blood ; 
Back fell the sable frock and dreary cowl. 
And they reveal' d — alas ! thai e'er they 
should ! 
In full, voluptuous, but not oVrgrown bulk, 
The phantom of her frolic Grace — Fitz-Fulke 



NOTES. 



Kotts to ®6c CSiaout, 



NoTB 1, p. 1.— The material upon which 
dbe tale of the Giaour is founded, is more 
or less attributuble to the adventure of Lcrd 
Byi-on's own servant ; an adventure which 
indirectly implicated the noble author him- 
self. 

Note 2, p. 1. — A tomb, alleged to be the 
resting-place of the great Then)istocles. It is 
situated above the rocks on the pionionioi-y. 

Note 3, p. 1. — The Persians have a cur 
rent and popular noiion, that the nighiingale 
has a peculiar partiality for the rose. 

Note 4, p. 1. — Amongst the Greek sailors, 
the soiig and dance by night, accompanied 
by the tinkle of the guitar, form a favourite 
pastime. 

Note 5, p. 2. — There is infinite beauty 
anil effect, though of a painful and almost 
oppressive character, in this extraordinary 
passage ; in which the author has illustrated 
the beautiful, but still and melancholy aspect 
of the once busy and glorious shores of 
Greece, by an image more true, more mourn- 
ful, and more exquisitely finished, than any 
that we can recollect in the whole compass of 
poetry. — Jeffkey. 

Note 6, p. 2. — At the period when this 
poem was written, Athens was in the hands 
»if Kislar -Vga, the eunuch-superintendent of the 
seraglio. 

Note 7, p. 3. — The reciter of the tale Is 
B Turkish fisherman, who has been employed 
during the day in the gulf of M^^ina., and in 
the evening, apprehensive of the Mainote 
pirates who infect the coast of Attica, lands 
with his boat in the ha'bour of Port Leone, 
the ancient Piraeus. He becomes the eye- 
witness of nearly all the incidents in the 
story, and in one of them is a principal agent. 
It is to his feelings, and particularly to his 
eeUgiou$ prejudices, that we are indebted 



for some of the most rorcible and splendU 
parts of the poem. — Gbcib<3E Ellis 

Note 8, p. 3. — The word Giaour, (or in 
fidel), is thus spelt by the Italians and by 
the Christians of the Levant. The English 
pronunciation is hardly so soft, and wert 
better rendered by DJour. 

Note 9, p. 3. — A musket. The discharge 
of fire-arms is the signal which summons th< 
faithful Mussulman to his duties. 

Note 10, p. 3. — A species of javelin >^nth s 
blunted point, wLich is hurled with unerring 
aim, from on horseback. 

Note 11. p. 3. — Every gesture of the im 
petuous horseman is full of anxiety and pas 
sion. In the midst of his career, whilst in 
full view of the astonished spectator, he sud 
denly checks his steed, and rising on his 
stirrup, surveys, with a look of agonising iin 
patience, the distant city illuminated for the 
feast of Bairam ; then pale with anger, raises 
his arm, as if in menace of an invisible 
enemy; but awakened from his trance oi 
passion by the neighing of his charger, again 
hurries forward, and disappears. — Georgb 
Ellis. 

Note 12, p. 4. — The wind peculiar to tht 
deserts in tropical climates, and in the east 
which is known to blight animals as well as 
vegetable productions. 

Note 13, p. 4. — The fact of having eaten 
at a Mohammedan's table, especially the use 
of salt. 

Note 14, p. 4. — The Mohammedans are 
proverbial for the exercise of charity and 
hospitably, which constitute two cardinal 
virtues in Iheir creed. Their proudest boast 
is to be distinguished for munificence ; and 
second to that, they pride themselves on 
their bravery and skill in the field. 

Note 15, p. 4. — This is a dagger of more 



612 



NOTES. 



than usual length, which is can-ied with the 
pistols in the metal belt peculiar to the cg*>- 
tume of the Turks. The muteriul of the 
belt distinguishes the rank of the wearer 

Note 16, p. 4. — All those who wear green 
in their cosii»me, particularly in the cap or 
wrban, are rUiroants to the honour of being 
descended from Manomet hiuiseli. 

NoTF 17, p, 4.— This is a courteous ad- 
fcess offered to disciples of Mahomet alone. 

Note 18, p, 6. — A butterfly with blue wings 
indigenous to Cashmere, and especially re- 
markable for its beauty, and the brilliancy 
of its hues. 

Note 19, p. 5. — An allusion to the hypo- 
thesis that the scorpion destroys itself when 
it turns its sting towards its he'ad. 

Note 20, p. 5. — The salute at dusk closes 
the Rhamtizan. 

Note 21, p. 5. — The moon. 

Note 22. p. 6.— The ruby of the Sultan 
Giam.schid, of fabulous celebrity. 

Note 23, p. 6.— Al-Sirat. ' This is the 
bridge over which the disciples of Mahomet 
are tauii;ht to belie\e that they must pass to 
secure access to beatitude. According to their 
creed, this bridge passes over the abyss of eternal 
darkness, and the passage is rendered doubly 
hazardous by its inconceivable narrowness. 
The most attenuated thread of the silkworm 
is not so fine, and the keenest edge of a 
Damascus blade offers a fairer footing, 

Note 24, p. 6.— The houris, it is known, 
are the damsels whose charms are to illustrate 
the eternal happiness of the faithful. The 
fable is in every way consistent with the 
tastes, inclinations, and prepossessions of 
Oriental climates and customs. The houris, 
whose large, dark, and glowing eyes have 
obtained for them this distinctive name, are 
supposed to last for ever in the freshness and 
beauty o.*" youth. 

Note 25, p. 6. — This is a mistake which 
has been commonly adopted by the Christians 
from want of a clear knowledge of the insti- 
tutions, or the u-eed expounded in the Koran. 
A fair portion of eternal bliss is assigned tt. 
the gentler sex. 

Note 2G. p. 6._This is a metaphor pecu 
liar to the cast. 

Note 27, p. 6.— The Oriental bards are 
net singular in this idea ; it is constantly 
met with in the more ancient lore of Greece. 

Note 28. p. 6. — Circassia, 

Note 29. p. 6._This word is to be con 
strued " In the name of God." The exjires^ 



sion IS of almost constant recurrence in tl« 
Koran, and is ever repeated in all devo 
tional passages. 

Note 30, p. 7.— This is said to be more 
common with the Moslems in their wrath, 
than it would be believed to be in more sober 
Europe. 

Note 31, p. 7. — The word signifies fur- 
giveness, or mercy. 

Note 32, p. 7. — This notion is prevalent 
wherever Islamism predominates. 

Note 33, p. 7.— The Shawls or Wrappers 
embroidered with flowers, and distinctive.'; 
worn by those who are of high rank. 

Note 34, p 8. — An allusion to the pas&aga 
in Holy Writ, referring to the mother of 
Si sera. 

Note 35, p. 8. — This is the skull-cap which 
forms the centre of the turban, and which 
protrudes above the wrapping. 

Note 36, p. 8. — The sepulchre of the Os- 
manlies is invariably adorned with the special 
insignia of their calling, order, and creed. 

Note 37, p. 8.— ^This is the summons 
uttered by the Muezzin to congregate the 
faithful at the hour of devotion. The Muezzin 
or Officer, upon whom this duty devolves, 
stations himself for this puqvose upon the 
uppor balcony surrounding the Minaret of the 
Mosque in which he officiates. 

Note 38, p. 8. — The pa.ssage has a paral 
lei in one of the Turkish war songs. 

Note 39, p. 8. — To elucidate the allusion 
in this passage, it were as well to refer the 
reader to Sale's Koran. The supposititious 
duties of the officers of Eternal Justice 
accairding to the Moslem notions cannot hn 
well understood, without some insight into 
the peculiar tenor of their Religious Cere- 
monial, and into the eccentricities of their 
Creed. 

Note 40, p. 8— The Satan of the Mo- 
hammedans. 

Note 41, p. 8.— Tournefort D'Herbelot, 
and others, should be consulted on the sulv 
jcct of many of the Oriental super.stilions arid 
prejudices. There are many anecdotes which 
will be found illustrative of this passage. In 
fact it is not so clear but that Lord Byron 
borrowed this suggestion from Tournefort, 
whom he has somewhere quoted as his au- 
thoiity. We have not been able to find any 
explanation of his own, however. 

Note 42, p.. 8 — An allusion to the re- 
ceived notion in the South-east of Europe, 
respecting the symptoms exhibited by thos# 



NOTES. '^ 



513^:^ 



who ' haTe : b««n attac1i«d by the Vaiilpire, 

anJoftffSt the peasHnirv of those regions, the 

brlicfin the habits of that indescribable ani- 

■ nsaUand in the effects of its stranj^e nurture. 

Note 43, p. 10. — An nlhision to the cur- 
rent fable concerning the Pelican. 

Note 44, p. 11. — LoitI Byron has afforded 
nn interesting anecdote explanatory of the 
Or-ental sujierstition of prophetic or second 
hearing. This tale is the more remarkable, 
that he was notoriously sceptical on these 
subjects. He relates an incident v.-hi<;h oc- 
curred to him in the Morea, in 1811, and in 
which the prescient alarm of an Albanian who 
accompanied him, is strongly illustrated. 

Note 45, p. 13. — The Romaic word sig- 
nifying " a Shroud " or " a Winding Sheet" 

Note" 46, p. 14. — The story of the Giaour 
is not, as we have already explained in the 
advertisement, without foundation in fact; 
for Lord Byron had founded the incidents 
of his poem upon a local tale, which was cur- 



rent in Turkey, and iHe substance of which - 
was thoroughly within the recollection of ' :• 
many living persons. He was moreover 

assisted by the matter furnisheil in the songs 
or laments to which il had given birth. Thus 
far the history and fate of the heroine had 
been furnished, and those of the hero were - 
gatliered from the adventures of a Venetian ■'-^• 
currently and traditionally known and l>e- '"' 
lieved. Nor can it be doubted but that the ii 
substance was in all important points true, 
even had a few of the details been embellish"d 
before they were handled by the poet. It ^ 
can also be added in favour of the Gia-fjur as 
a poem and a story, that' its greatest ehaiia 
consists in the reality and hfe-like accuracy 
of its incidents and descriptions. Lord 
Byron was always remarkably happy in - 
adapting the salient points of a story, aftd '^j' 
equally so in the vividness, truth, aptitude,"- 
and colour, if it may be so called, of hii • 
descriptions. '-"■ 



jSotcs to W^t ^vilre of ^bjitros. 



Note 1, p. 15. — This poem was first pub- 
lished at the close of the year 1813, aftw 
but .1 very short 'apse of time employed in 
its composition. Lord Byron was proverbially 
rapid in his writing, and this remai-k is es- 
pecially ajipHcable to the pieces he wxoXa 
about this peiiod. There appears to have 
i>een a dreary sense of a want of something 
to busy him, and prevent his mind from 
brooding over its son-uws, whicli gave birth 
to some of his most brilliant poems. On the 
other hand, it was in writing these workg 
from time to time that he filled the void 
which se?med to hang about him. They 
were thus the effect and the solace of his 
desolate satiety. Once in the vein for 
writing, he appears to have rattled on, and 
completed whatever work or portion he had 
undertaker, whilst the humour lasted. 

Note 2, p. 15. — The title of this poem 
appears to have afforded some material for 
cavil. The "Bride" is, in fact, a somewhat 
ipiestiouable denomination for the heroine. 
But the criticism is, nevertheless, as unjust as 
the yaibbie is paitiy ; for, after all, the ques- 
tiue ifkiMves itseif merely iutu one of woids 

34 



or interpretations. The meaning remaina 
the same. 

Note 3, p. 15. — The Romaic woid signi. 
fying Rose, is " Gul." 

Notk 4, p. LC— The Romeos and Juliets 
of romance are no such uncommon per- 
sonages — Mejnoun and Leila, we are told, 
are those who represent Shaiicspere's hero 
and heroine, in the Levant. Sadi is the bard 
and sage, or moralist, of Persia. 

Note 6, p. 16 — In Turkey, the three pe- 
riods of the day, the rising, zenith, and the 
setting of the sun, are announced by the roll- 
ing of a drum bearing that designation. 

Note 6, p. 16. — There is no love lost be- 
tween the schismatical tribes of Arabia and 
the Mussulmans of Turkey. The enmity 
which exists between these branches of the 
folhnvers of Mahomet is, in fact, more bitrer 
than that which severs tlie Moslems from any 
other religious sect. 

Note 7. p 17. — An allusion to one of the 
principal feudal vassals of Turkey. 

Note 8, p. 17.— The fatal warrant by 
which a subject of the Porte is condemned 
to death, by the prevaiiing insuuoaeat of 
2 



5U 



NOTES. 



ilnmgulation, is not always obeycrl -w-ithout 
resistance; instances are not wanting in 
which the messenger who conveyed the order, 
or notice of condemnation, has lieen snb- 
mitted to the punishment by the culprit. In 
ather cases, however, the mandate is reli- 
giously obeyed. 

Note 9, p. 17. — In Turkey the only me- 
thod of calling attendants, is by clapping the 
hands or stamping with the foot. 

Note 10,p. 17. — The prevalence of smoking 
has almost rendered it unnecessary to translate 
the word " Chibouque." The Turks, Arabs, 
Persians, and the people of the I>evant, gene- 
rally adopt this shape of pipe only. Il con- 
sists of a small bowl, generally of red clay ; 
but in some cases, of ivorjs metal, or other 
material adorned with jewels, and a long 
cherry tube, tipped wiih a round and atte- 
nuating piece of amber, which forms the 
mouthpiece. There is frequently a ring of 
gold, sometimes set with jtnvels round the 
joint, between the amber and the stem. 

Note 11, p. 17. — The denomination by 
which the stipendiary troops in the Turkish 
service are distinguished. 

Note 12, p. 17. This term is applied to 
those to whom conduct of dangerous ser- 
vices is entrusted. They are generally en- 
gaged in the first charge, and are almost 
invariably placed at the head of bodies of 
cavalry. 

Note 13, p. 17.— The Turks in sword- 
practice protect themselves with a thick and 
tough covering, which is generally proof 
again.^t any single blow. 

Note 14, p 17. — This is an ejaculation vvhich 
is very prevalent amongst the Turks, when 
they are excited either by sport or action. 
At other times their taciturnity is as pro- 
verbial as their indolence, if indeed it be not 
a part of it. 

Note 15, p. 18. — A scent in high favour 
in the Levant, and very generally used iH 
Eurojie. Ottar of roses wjis, however, fur 
more in use fonnerly than it is now. 

Note 16, p. 18. — The Mohammedans are 
particularly fond of decorating their walls and 
ceiling'^ with dazzling views of Cmstantinople, 
in which the Chinese taste and judgment of 
art are most apparent. 

Note 17, p. 18. — " ,\zrael," amongst the 
Moh<unmedu>is is an imjiersfMiation of death. 
Note 18, p. 18. — An allusion to the tru- 
vlitionary antiquities of the Sultans. 

Note 19, p. .19. — The "musschm" is an 



officer of the government, whose station 'it' 

second to that of a Pacha. 

Note 20, p. 19. — The Turkish name foi 
Negropont. The inhabitants of thi 5 province 
are despised like those of Athens. 

Note 21, p. 19, — " Tchocadar," an usher 

Note 22, p. 20. — An allu.sion to the well 
known story of antiquity. 

Note 23, p. 20. — Amber, like all resinona 
substances, may be quickened by friction : it is 
well known to be strongly charged with elec- 
tricity by this operation, and emits a slight 
aroma. When burnt, the scent is very power- 
ful and by no means disagreeable. 

Note 24, p. 20. — Amulets are deeply re 
vered by the Mohammedans, who have thv 
greatest confidence in their efficacy. It is bj 
no means uncommon to see a small piece of 
some venerated relic worn about the pers(m, 
encased in gold and jewels. Extracts from 
their sacred writ are generally engraved on 
the case The most ignorant peasantry in 
Roman Catholic countries are not now so 
much attached to this venerati've prejudice 
as many of the wealthiest and best educated 
Mus.sulmen. 

Note 25, p. 20 — An appendage which 
may beheld to represent the Rosary of the Ro- 
man Catholics amongst the Mohammedans. 

Note 26, p. 21. — The designation of a 
seaman amongst the Turks; by w'hich jdso the 
person so called is distinguished from ilie 
Greek or other subject in the service. 'J'he 
description here given by Tord Byron, is 
accurate enough. There are, liowever, a few 
little additions which are attributable to the 
particular costume of some individual who 
personally served as the model. 

Note 27,p.22. — The majority of the swords 
or scimitars used by Mohammedans bear some 
verse of the Koran as an inscription. The 
patterns v'ary considerably, and Lord Byron 
had in his possession more than one specimen 
of this oriental article of manufacture. The 
steel is icmarkable for being very highly tein 
pered, and the edge of an oriental weapon is 
always far more keen than that of any in U3« 
amongst us. 

Note 28, p 22.— The traditions of the Jewg 
are far from being unknown amongst the 
Mohammedans. It is well known that Ma- 
homet himself was careful in impugning the 
revelation of the Hebrew writ ; and the same 
traditions therefore appear in Mussulman 
Sacred History as in that of the J rws, with this 
difference only, that they are clothed in other 



NOTES. 



51 



language, aud that the names are adapted to 
their own fancy or version. Ziileika is the 
name uiuibuicd to Poiiphar's wife. The same 
iiiculeal as that reiaied of her in the Old 
Testamciil has btcu reproduced with ail the 
lusU'e of oriental imagery. 

><OTE 29, p. 22. — An allusion to one of 
the insurgent vassals who defied the utmost 
power of the government. 

Note 30, p. 22. — This is the distinguishing 
5)ennon of a Pacha, whose rank aud command 
are marked by this standard. 

Note 31, p. 22. — An allusion to one of 
those crimes or romantic enterprises so com- 
mon in the East — The viclim in this instance 
was a Pacha of the name of Giaffir, of whom, 
as of the coincidence, Lord Byron has given 
a detailed account. He had occasion, at a later 
period, to know more of the hero and per- 
petrator, who was no less a personage than 
Ah the Pacha of Albania. 

Note 32, p. 23. — When a Turk speaks of 
Ikf Island or tlie Sea, he must be understood 
to indicate the Archipelago, for beyond that, 
few amongst his nation have any idea of 
insular conformation. 

Note 33, p. 23 — This passage alludes to 
one of the most remarkable leaders of the 
Greek revolts. Lord Byron, from tlie interest 
he took in the regeneration and independence 
of Greece, and from his active participation 
in the struggle, had become intimately ac- 
quainted with all the details of its history and 
had had occasion to meet with the principal 
personages who figured in the melancholy 
annals of the Morea before the battle of 
Navarino 

Note 34, p. 23. — Amongst the Turks, all 
those who are subject to the capitation t;ix, 
are distinguished by the denomination of 
" Rayahs." 

Note 35, p. 24. — An allusion to the pecu- 
liar habits and prepossessions of Mohamme- 
dans. 

Note 36, p. 24. — Lord Byron has unneces- 
»arily apologized for the tenor of this passage. 
It is perfectly true, not only of the indigenous 
population or wandering tribes of the East, 
but also of Europeans, who are by accident 
ft deuga, east into a similar career, that tia 



wild and uncontrolled frsedom of the broad 

expanse of desert inspires them with a species 
of elevated spirit of independence. There is 
a pleasure in the impressions which crowd 
upon the mind in such a situation, which 
none can properly understand but those v ho 
have thorougiily entered into this peculiar 
mode of life. 

Note 37, p. 24. — One of the tenns signify. 
ing the place of eternal bliss. 

Note 38, p. 26. — The following passage 
will be the most explanatory of the allusion and 
we therefore lake the liberty to extract it as it 
stands. " While the Salseile lay oil the Par- 
danelles, Loril Byron saw the body of a man 
who had been executed by being cast into the 
sea, floating on the stream to and fro with the 
trembling of the water, which gave to its arms 
the efiect of scaring away several sea-towl 
that were hovering to devour. This incident 
has been strikingly depicted." — Galt. 

Note 39, p 2d. — The burial-place of Mo- 
hammedau women i»leftwithout any distinctive 
mark: that of the men is adorned with a 
sculptured turban above the inscription (if 
theie be any). The inscription generally con- 
sisxs of some of the most admired verses of 
the Koran. 

Note 40, p. 36 — ^The funeral chant uttered 
by the women. The term " iilent slaves " is • 
applied to the male portion of such melancholy 
ceremonies, because it is one of the points of 
delicacy amongst the Mohammedans not to 
betray any emotion before strangers. 

Note 41, p. 26. — This passage will be 
better understood by referring to a note on the. 
subject attached to the "Pleasures of Me- 
moiy." — It is an adaptation of a passage in 
oriental poetry. 

Note 42, p. 27. — This notion is peculiarly 
prevalent in the East, but it should be added, 
that it is by no means confined to those re- 
gions. We are not in our own coun ry without 
many remarkable instances of similar delu- 
sions. There are some anecdotes illustrative 
of this question to be found in the Corres. 
pondence of Horace Walpole, whose taste 
appears to have inclined him to Mek out cccl^ 
and similar fantasies. 



516 



NOTES 



l^oits to tljz OTorsair. 



NoTB 1. p. 28. — ^This poem is another ex- 
ample of the lacility and I'eilility of Lord 
Byron's genius. The beauty of his writing 
would almost appear to have been enhanced 
by rapidity ; a phenomenon which is some- 
what explained by the evidence borne by his 
poems themselves, that he wrote from impulse 
and not from reflection. He " wreaked his 
thoughts upon expression," he did not wait 
to chill a thought by studying its diction. 
Hence all the vigour, freshness, energy, power, 
and acrimony of his productions, " The Cor- 
siiir " was begun and completed in the course 
of thirteen days, and at a period almost con- 
temporary with the completion of the " Bride 
of Abydos." 

Note 2, p. 23. — It may not be supei-fluous 
to remind the reader of "^he Corsair," that 
the islands selected as the scene of this little 
drama are all of them but a short distance 
from one another and from the main land. 
There is therefore no inaccuracy or ana- 
chronism in the quick succession of incidents 
as they are related ; — far from it: — to ihose who 
are well acquainted with the locality and 
the impetuous temperament of the people, they 
will appear but the more probable and truth- 
ful. 

Note 3, p. 30. — The author has been at 
Bome pains to excuse himself from having 
6iraintd the privileges of poetry or fiction in 
d*ra\ving the character of Conrad in this poem. 
And there can be no hai-m in adding the 
citations adduced by him from history in 
support of the portraiture produced by his 
imagination. It would seem from the follow- 
ing quotations, that characters, no less strange 
to the everyday life ideas of a London reader, 
have actually figured in reality. 

" Eccelin prisonnier," dit Ilolandrni, "s'en- 
fenioit dans un silence mena9ant ; il fixoit 
6ur la terre son regard feioce, et ne donnoit 
point d'essor a sa profonde indignation. De 
toutos partes cependant les soldats et les 
peiiples accouroient ; ils vouloient voir cet 
homme, jadis si puissant, et la joie univer- 
selle eclaloit de toutes partes. • • * 
" Eccelin etoit d'une petite taille : mais tout 
l'as])ect de sa personne, tous ses mouvemens, 
indiqu(/ient un soldat. Son langage etoit 
amcr, son deportemeut &uperbe — et par son 



seul regard, il faisoit trembler let plul handi*. 

— Sisinondi, tome iii. p. 219. 

Again, " Gisericus siatura mediocris, et eqai 
casu claudicans, animo profundus, sermoa< 
rarus, luxuriae, contemptor, ira turbidus, har> 
bendi cupidus, ad solicitandas gentes provi. 
dentissimus," &c. &c. — Jornandes de Rebut 
Geticis, Cx 33. 

Note 4, p. 34. — The phosphoric sparkling 
of the sea about the prow, sides, and wake 
of a boat or vessel, or at each dip of the oari 
or bi-eak of the water, is perhaps far bettej 
known and more frequently observed in tW 
Mediterranean and in more central latitude** 
than on our own coasts. It is, moreovei-, fd 
more intense in brilliancy, owing to the darl 
anil profound blue of the sky and water, upoj 
which this flashing breaks like an auror*v 
But we have also not unfrequently observd 
the same spai-kling about Portsmouvh auA 
round the I^le of Wight, even very late in t3^i 
season, and when a cold westerly breeze bu 
been blowing hard; nor in one instance do w»> 
recollect to have seen it excelled in the Soutl . 

Note 6, p. 35. — Coffee. 

NoTB 6, p. 36. — A Turkish pipe, (s«e now 
ante). 

Note 7, p. 35. — Dancing girls. OnP o/ 
the chief entertainments of a wealthy Mo 
hammedan after his banquet, and duri jg tu«i 
lazy enjoyment ol' his pipe and coif^e^ is ti" » 
perlormance of girls maintained fov the es^ 
pecial purpose of dancing in l.i.* pvesencu- 
They are generally selecied Iro;^ 'ai.«. haiem. 

Note 8, p. 35. — There is »a nttance of c 
similar incitlent in history. \t is recorded at 
follows by Gibbon {Decline iKd Fall of tht 
Roman Empire, vol. vi., y.. 730). " AnxiouB 
to explore with his own pye< the stale of th» 
Vandals, Majorian venr.<rcd, after disguisiny 
the colour of his hair, to v'.si: Carthage i n the c1j» 
racter of his own am), assador : and Genseri«i 
was afterwards moitified by the discovery, 
that he had enterti-ined and dismissed the 
Emperor of the Uomans. Such an aneidote 
may be rejected as an improbable IJclion; 
but it is a tictio.i which would not have been 
imagined un\es.s in the life of a hero." 

Note 9, p, 36. — The Dervi.^es are a clas9 
who resembie the monks of Iloman CaJho 
licism. 



NOTES. 



51 



fNoTE 10, p. 37 —Satan. 

Note U, p. 37. — A similar exhibition of 
wrath has more than once been historically 
lecorded. 

NoTB 12, p. 37. — A woman's name. Al- 
most ail female names, in particular amongst 
the people of tlie east, are words signifying 
birds, flowers, scents, or other ornaments or 
luxuries which abound in their hyperbolical 
poetry. Guhiare, means the blossom of the 
pomegranate. 

Note 13, p. 40. — Lord Byron appears to 
have alluded to the case of Sir rhomas 
More and to that of Anna Boleyn. There 
aje many other historical instances of similar 
ooffoonery. 

Note 14, p. 41. — It is well known that 
.he disciples of Socrates were very urgent 



with their great master not to swallow th6 
poison until after sunset. The philosopher, 
nevertheless, obeyed the mandate of hi.s :ou. 
demnation, and to(k the potion before the sun 
went down. 

Note 15, p. 41. — The fuither we go to 
the southward, the less the twilight, and the 
more equal the distribution of time between 
night and day; so that the winter's day is 
longer than that in om- latitude, and tha 
summer's day is shorter. It is so in Greece 
(as a matter of course) where the scene is laid. 

Note 16, p. 41. — The summer-houses of 
the Turks are called Kiosks. 

Note 17, p. 43. — See note ante. 

Note 18, p. 48. — It is the prevalent fashion 
in the East, to adorn the bodies of the dead 
with flowers. 



Note to Hara. 



Note 1, p. 50.— There appears to have 
been no specific period or locality assigned to 
the incidents related in the poem of Lara. 
Lord Byron at different times gave different 
accounts of his own arrangements of the 



scene, and contented himself with attributing 
entirely to fiction, to avoid the inconsistency 
of some of the personages with the couiitry 
and customs. 



Notes to tfie Sbtegc of aTortntJ. 



Note 1, p. 64. — It should be ob.served that 
tdnce Tripolitza became the seat of the Pacha 
of the Province, Napoli di Romania ceased 
to be the chief town in the Morea. Lord 
Byron had at various times overrun the whole 
of the Grecian provinces, and was well ac- 
quainted with all the roads and by-roads, as 
well as with the towns of the Morea, of 
Attica. Albania, &c. &c. 

Note 2, p 64. — An allusion to Dervioli, 
one of the Arnaouts, who had accompanied 
the author. He appears to have retired to 
}he mountains, and to have raised the stand- 
ard of revolt against the vice-royal govern- 
ment. 

Note 3, p. 65. — See note ante. 

Note 4, p. 65. — The Turcomans resemble 
the Bedouin Arabs in their method of living. 
They are an erratic people — who wander 
from place to place, pitching their tents at 
sonvenience. and removing them at pleasure. 



Note 5, p. Q5. — An allusion to All Cou. 
mourgi, who had driven the Venetians from 
the Morea, and who was a.fterwards killed at 
Peterwardein. 

Note 6, p. 69. — A description which has 
unfortunately but too much of reality. It is 
not at all uncommon for dead bodies to be ob- 
served floating on the Bosphorus. The fol- 
lowing quotation from Hobhouse's Travels 
will serve to attest the truth of the picture : — 
" The sensations produced by the state of 
the weather, and leaving a comfortable cabin, 
were in unison with the impressions which 
we felt, when passing under the palace of the 
sultans, and gazing at the gloomy cypresses 
which rise above the walls, we saw two dogs 
gnawing a dead body." — Hobhouse. 

Note 7, p. 69. — The Mohammedans en. 
tertain a superstitious belief with respect to 
the tuft of hair worn by them, to the effect 
that it will serve as a handle tc the prophel 



518 



NOTES. 



wherewithal to hoist them itj»o the legion of 
the Hoiiris. 

Note 8, p. 70. — An allusion to th3 author's 
visits to Aune-sley when a boy. 

Note 9, p. 72. — This passage refers to the 
occasion of an action by sea, which was 
fought at the mouth of the Dardanelles by the 
Turks against the Venetians. 

Noxa 10, p. 75. — The jackalis not known 



in Europe. In all parts of Asia Mioor, how, 
ever, thit animal abounds. They make aa 
especial retreat of old ruins, and Lord Byroa 
has adapted the creature to another soil, 
without much violation to its habits. The 
jackal is known to follow bodies of men aa 
the sea-birds follow a ship, to secure wha*. 
ever refuse may be cast ouL 



Notes 10 ^arasinau 



Note 1, p. 76. — ^The subject matter of this 
Poem was somewhat too voluptuous for the 
precise but maudlin modesty of Lord Byron's 
Critics. The ostentatious prudery of the na- 
tion almost set aside Parasnia, and though iar 
from an inferior work even for such an author, 
n has not been so generally known or noticed, 
As many of the others. Lord Byron's Critics 
were in general envious, malignant opponents, 
and they were very fond of twisting all his 
productions into immoral constructions : but 
the fact is, that the drift of the most con- 
demned is quite the contrary. It were just 
AS fair to condemn " Joseph Andrews," as 



immoral in its tendency, u " Don Juan,' or 

any poem of Lord Byron's. The satire o. 
vice can never be interpreted into its exalta- 
tion. Whether or not, " Parasina " is open 
to more equivocal translation is another ques- 
tion. But we are perfectly assured that the 
author never intended to celebrate and eulo 
gise a crime. 

Note 2, p. 79. — The word " haught " is 
very commonly used for "haughty," and more 
especially in the earlier writers of our lan- 
guage. It may be found in Spencer, Ben 
Johnson, Beaumont and Fletcher, Shakspere, 
&c. dec. 



Notes to ti)e prisoner of ©JiHon. 



NoTB 1, p. 82.— The Castle of .Chillon 
which juts out into the lake of Geneva, on the 
north shore, and at the eastern end, is cele- 
brated as having been the prison of Fran9ois 
de Bonnivard, the hero of Genevan inde- 
pendence It is known that until the year 
1535, Geneva was a dependency of the Duke 
dom of Savoy : and as by its situation, and for 
o^er rea.sons, it was a place of no mean im- 
pwtance, it was very jealously retained by the 
PriD;:es of that House. On the other hand 
the Genevese entertained an hereditary hatred 
for the Savoyards, and have continued since 
their emancipation to detest their Ibrraer 
masters. The Genevese had made several 
eflFort-s to liberate themselves from the yoke of 
the Duke of Savoy, and Bonnivard, who 
flourished just at the period that the struggle 
was assuming a decided aspect, warmly par- 
ticipated in the contest He was not a 



Genevan, but became possessed of a wealthy 
benefice at that place in 1510 He was born 
in 1496, and had been educated in the capital 
of Piedmont itself. All his associations were 
more likely to have bound him to the interests 
of the Savoyards. But a lofty spirit of inde- 
pendence, the purest integrity and sense oi 
justice, and an affectionate regard for the 
people with whom hehad become incoi-porated, 
and whose character at that period was con- 
genial to the enlightened and progressive in- 
telligence of such a man, had completely 
enlisted him in the cause of the Genevese. 
In 1519 he became a prisoner on the occasion 
of the occupation of Geneva by the Duke of 
Savoy. He was closely confined for two 
years at Grolee, to which dungeon he had 
been despatched by the Duke. He afterwards 
contrived to effect his escape, but in 1580 waa 
onee more betrayed Into the hands of his ene* 



NOTES. 



519 



mies, and was sent a close prisoner to the 
vaults of the Castle of Chillon, whence he was 
dually libeiateii in 1636, when the people of 
Berne occupied the Canton of Vaud. Bon- 
nivard, whose name is still held in high ve- 
neration by the Genevese, was not left unre- 
warded by" the grateful towns-people. Upon 
his final return, when Geneva had already 
adopted the niotto of " Post tenebras Lux," 
the country ol his adoption had become pro- 
testar.t and free. He was provided with a 
handsome residence and pension, and became 
a member of the Republican Govennnent. 

Note 2, p. 82. — An allusion to the etlect 
whicli grief is reported to have had upon 
nianv eminent personages in history. 

Note 3, p. 83.— Tlie Castle of Chillon (see 
note a7jt€,) is situated in one of the more 
picturesque retreats of that most picturesque 
and beautiful part of ihe lake of Geneva. It 
consists of blank loop-holed and very lieavy 
white walls, abutting at the corners in 
round towers of ihe same character, with cir- 
cular pointed rnol's. In itself, it is by no 
means a handsome specimen of architecture, 
but the structure appears to be admirably 
a<laptcd to the nature of the spot. The 
pi istening white lowers show with exquisite 
fti'ect in the midst of the deep bb<e and tran- 
quil water of the Lake, and bejvrr* the dark 
background, formed by the wooUort 'Kclivities 
of the mountains. On the land v «, the en- 
hance to the Castle opens into the road from 
Lausanne to Villeiieuve. It is nof far either 
from Vevey or the latter place ; and apart 
from its own celebrity as having been the 
dungeon in which the great Bonnivard was 
80 long confmed, another charm has since been 
aitached to its immediate vicinity by the rhap- 
sodies of Jean Jacques Rousseau — Clarcns is 
very near at hand amongst the vinlaged hills. 
*' It is said 'hat Charles the Fifth. Duke of 
Savoy, stormed and took it in 1536 ; that he 
thcr° found great hidden treasures, and many 
wretched beings pining away their lives in 
these frightful dungeons, amongst whom was 
Bonnivard, On the pillar to which this un- 
fortunate man is said to have been chained, 
I observed, cut out of the stone, the name ol 
one whose beautiful poem has done much to 
heighten the interest of this dieary sr})ot, and 
will, perhaps, do more towards rescuing from 
oblivion the names of 'Chillon' and 'Bon- 
nivard,' than all the criel 8uff<a^ugs which 



that injured man endurec within its damy 
and gloomy walls." — Tennant. 

Note 4, p. 85.— An allusion to a very small! 
island which is situated neai Villeneuve. 

Note 6, p. 86. — " It has not been ihipur- 
pose of Lord Byron to paint the peculiar cha- 
racter of Bonnivard. The object ol' the j. De:.), 
like that of Sterne's celebrated .sketch of the 
prisoner, is to consider captivity in the ab- 
stract, and to mark its eilects in gradually 
chilling the mental powers as it benumbs and 
freezes the animal frame, until the unii.rlu- 
nate victim becomes, as it were, a part of his 
dungeon, and identified with his chains. 
This transmutation we believe to be founded 
on tact; at least, in the Low Countries, where 
solitude for life is substituted for capital pa 
nishnienls, something like it may be wit- 
ne.-5sed. On particular days in the course of 
the year, these victims of a jurisprudence 
which calls itself humane, are presented to 
the public eye, upon a stage erected in the 
open market-place, apparently to prevent their 
guilt and their punishment from being for- 
gotten. It is scarcely possible to witness a 
sight more deg;rading to humanity than this 
exhibition : \y^uh matted hair, wild looks, and 
haggard features, wHh eyes dazzled by the 
unwonted light of the sun, and ears deafened 
and astounded by the sudden exchange of the 
silence of a dungeon for the busy lunn of 
men, the wretches sit more like rude images 
fashioned to a fantastic imitation of humanity, 
than Hke Uving and reflecting beings In the 
course of time we arc assured they generally 
become either madmen or idiots, as mind or 
matter happens to preilom.inate, when the 
mysterious balance between them is destroyed 
It' will readily be allowed tliat this singular 
poem is more powerful than pleasing. The 
dungeon of Bonnivard is, like that of Ugo- 
lino, a subject too dismal for even the power 
of the painter or poet to counteract its hor- 
rors. It is the more disagreeable as affording 
human hope no anchor to rest upon, and 
describing the sufferer, though a man of talents 
and virtues, as altogether ineit and powerless 
under his accumulated sufferings: yet, as a 
picture, however gloomy the colouring, it may 
rival any which Lord Byron has drawn ; nor 
is it possible to read it without a sinking ol 
the heart, corresponding with that which h« 
describes the victin> to have suffered." — Sin 
Waltkb Scott, 



520 



NOTES. 



Notes to Jilnnfnti. 



Note 1, p. 87. — Lord Byron, -who treated 
Manfred somewhat coidly, gives a half-hu- 
inorous sketch of it in one of his letters to 
Mr. Murray. The extract has been published, 
and mkjlit serve as a species of reference on 
the subject, but there is little information in 
it which may not be gathered from the work 
itself. 

The following are two extracts from the 
criticisms of contemporary wi iters on this 
strange but very beautiful production: — 

" In Manfred we recognise at once the 
gloom and potency of that soul which burned 
and blasted and fed npon itself, in Harold, 
and Conrad, and Laru — and which comes 
again in this piece, more in sorrow than in 
anger — more proud, perhaps, and more awful 
than ever — but with the fiercer traits of its 
misanthropy subdued, as it were, and quenched 
in the gloom of a deeper despondency. This 
piece is properly entitled a dramatic poem — 
for it is merely poetical, and is not at all a 
drama or play in the modern acceptation of 
the term. It has no action, no plot, and no 
characters ; Manfred merely muses and suffers 
from the beginning to the end. His distresses 
aie the same at the opening of the scene and 
at its closing, and the temper in which they 
are borne is the same. A hunter and a priest, 
and some domestics, are indeed introduced, 
but they have no connection with the pas- 
sions or sufiei-ings on which the interest de- 
pends ; and Manfred is substantially alone 
throughout the whole piece. He holds no 
commimion but with the memory of the Being 
he had loved ; and the immortal Spirits whom 
he evokes to reproach with his misery, and 
their inability to relieve it These unearthly 
beings approach nearer to the character of 
pttfsons of the drama — but still they are but 
thcral accompaniments to the performance; 
and Manfred is, in reality, the only actor and 
sufferer on the scene. To delineate his cha- 
racter indeed — to render conceivable his feel- 
ings — is plainly the whole scope and design 
of the poem ; and the conception and execu- 
tion are, in this respect, equally admirable. 
It is a giand and terrific vision of a being 
invested with superhuman attributes, in order 
that he may be capable of more than human 
Bufferings, {..id be sustainei u ider them by 
iBore th?ji htunan force «uui pnde.' — Jkp- 
niBT. 



" In this very extraordinary poem, LoLJi 
Byron has pursued the same course as iu iba 
third canto of Childe Harold, and put out his 
strength itpon the same objects. The actioE 
is laid among the mountains of the Alps — 
the characters are all, more or less, formed 
and swayed by the operations of the magni- 
ficent scenery around them, and eveiy pa?e 
of the poem teems with imagery and passion, 
though, at the same time, the mind of thepoat 
is often overborne, as it were, by the strength 
and novelty of its own conceptions. Bui 
there is a still more novel exhibition of Lord 
Byron's powers in this remarkable drama.. 
He has here burst into the world of ^pirits ; 
and, in the wild delight with which the ele- 
ments of nature seem to have inspired him, 
he has endeavoured to embody and call up 
before him their ministering agents, and to 
employ these wild personifications, as he for- 
merly employed the feelings suid passions of 
man." — Professor Wilson 

Note 2, p. 89. — The period at which these 
lines were written may explain the tenor of 
Lord Byron's thought in writing them, and 
the allusion which they contain. It wasjust 
about the time that the final endeavour to 
reconcile the dispositions of his family had 
proved abortive, that the author abandoned 
himself to the peculiarly beautiful view of 
despondency, which is distinguishable in the 
colouring of all his finest productions. 

Note 3, p. 91.— See note ante. See also 
Clarendon's History of the Rebellion for an 
account of Charles the First's appearance at 
Newport, in the Isle of Wight, when the 
negociation was commenced after his con- 
finement in Carisbrookc Castle. Again, the 
memoir of " Marie Antoinette," 4:c. &c. 

Note 4, p. 91. — A sight not uncommon in 
Switzerland. 

Notk 6, p. 91. — The mountains which 
Lord Byron ascended or visited in person 
The allusion here, is sp'vially directed to th« 
Wengen, the Jungfrau, ;he Dent D'Argent, 
the Great and Little Giant, and the Wctter- 
hf)rn. In this part of the mountains at per- 
ticular seasons, the fall of Avalanches is ol 
constant occun-ence. 

Note 6, p. 91. — A sight peculiar to vury 
mountainous regions, but not to Switzerland 
alone. The same effects, with the additional 
eplendour lent by a tropcial sun, arecbservablo 



NOTES. 



521 



the Andes, But there is a peculiar appear- 
ance in the mist, as it rolls along the deep 
gullevs and ravines, and precipitate valleys of 
the Alps. Standing far above the cloud which 
mantles the plain below, and yourself under 
the brigbtest and most spotless summer sky, 
you look down, not upon a varied expanse of 
landscape in panoramic view, .but upon an 
impenetrable ocean of vapour. The sensation 
produced by this appearance is strange enough; 
you seem" detached Irom the world, and 
pla)ted alone upon your bright, but solitary 
elevation. 

Note 7, p. 93.— This is perfectly true of 
the appearance of an Alpine waterfall, on a 
brig.ht sunny day. The Stanbach has a con- 
stant rainbow at its base. The fine spray 
fluttering about is tin^.ed with all the glowing 
hues of the prism, and when you are actually 
in the midst of it, you still see it all around you. 
Note 8, p. 93." — An allusion to the most 
striking objects aboat the Jungfrau. 

Note 9, p. 94. — Lord Byron here refers 
to Jambl'ius the philosopher, and adopts the 
anecdote told of him by Eunapius. 

Note 10, p. 95. — For the circumstances 
here alluded to, we must . refer the reader to 
the following passage in Plutarch's Life of 
Cimon, (Langiiorne's Plutarch, vol. iii. p. 
179,) in which the story of Pausanias and 
^leonice is detailed. — " It is related, that 
when Pausanias was at Byzantium, he cast 
r>iis eyes upon a young virgin named Cleo- 
nice of «i noble family there, and insisted on 
having he. f >v a mistress. The parents, in- 
timidated bj bis power, were under the hard 
necessity of giving up their daughter. The 
young woman begged that the light might be 
taken out of his apartments, that she might 
go to his bed in secrecy and silence. When 
she entered he was asleep, and she unfor- 
Innately stumbled upon the candlestick and 
threw it down. The noise waked him suddenly, 
and be, in his confusion, thinking it was an 
enem/ r)ming to assassinate him, unsheathed 
a dagger that lay by him, and plunged it into 
the virgin's heart After this he could never 
rest. Her image appeared to him every night, 
and with a menacing tone repeated this 
heroic verse, — 

' Go to the fate which pride and lust prepare !' 
The allies, highly incensed at this infamous 
action, joined Cimon to besiege him in Byzan- 
tium. But he found means to escape thence; 
ind as he was still haunted by the spectre, he 



is said to have applied to a temple at Heraclea, 
where the manes of the dead were consulted. 
There he invoked the spirit of Cleonice. and 
entreated her pardon. She appeared, and told 
him 'he would soon be delivered from all hia 
troubles, after his return to Sparta:' in which, 
it seems, his death was enigmatically foretold. 
These particulars we have from many histo- 
rians." 

Note 11, p. 95. — An allusion to some in. 
cident which occurred to Lord Byron on his 
approach to the Grindenwald. 

Note 13, p. 98. — Over this fine drama, a 
moral feeling hangs like a sombrous thiu)der 
cloud. No other guilt but that so darkly sha- 
dowed out could have furnished so dreadful 
an illustration of the hideous aberrations of 
human nature, however noble and mnjeslic, 
when left a prey to its dc-sires, its passions, 
and its imagination. The beauty, at one time 
so innocently adored, is at last soiled, pro. 
faned, and violated. Afifection, love, guilt, 
horror, remorse, and death, come in terrible 
succession, yet all darkly linked together. 
We think of Astarte as young, beautiful, innrv 
cent — guilty — lost — murdered — buried — 
judged— pardoned; but still, in her permitted 
visit to earth, speaking in a voice of sorrow 
and with a countenance yet pale with mortal 
trouble. We had but a glimpse of her in her 
beauty and innocence; but, at last, she rises 
up before us in all the mortal silence of a 
ghost, with fixed, glazed, and passionless eyes, 
revealing death, judgment, and eternity. 1 he 
moral breathes and bums in every word, — in 
sadness, misery, insanity, desolation, and 
death. The work is "instinct with spirit,"— 
and in the agonv and distraction, ann all ita 
dimly imagined causes, we behold, though 
broken up, confused, and shattered, the ele- 
ments of a purer existence. — Wilson. 

Note 13, p. 99.— An allusion to the sui- 
cide of Othn after his discomfiture at BrixeU 
lum. {See Plutarch's Livte.) Also the Elegy 
of Martial on this event 

Note 14, p. 100. — An expression and 
sentiment which abounds in the lighter or 
in the more serious writings of Lord Byron. 
That he was haunted by a dreary sense (V 
desolation, is evident from some, even of the 
earliest fragments n-hich he has left to the 
worid. His kind of intellect was not easily 
satisfied with ordinary society; there was no- 
thing congenial in the every-day converse of 
the world, so that he was driven to brood 
within himself, and as he could find no real 



622 



NOTES. 



associate beyond the pale of his own imagi- 
nation, it is not to be wondered at, if he gave 
evidence of a desolate species of being. 

Note 15, p. 100.— Lord Byron has fairly 
acknowledged, that, although he began by 
being sceptical on the subject of the immor- 
tality of the soul, he was cured of that scep- 
ticism. There is therefore an inconsistency 
between some expressions in his earlier writ- 
ings and this, but the inconsistency is one 
which is occasioned by an avowed change of 
opinion. 

Note 16, p. 100. — There are three only, 
even among the great poets of modern times, 
who have chosen to depict, in their full shape 
and vigour, those agonies to which great and 
meditative intellects are, in the present pro- 
gress of human history, exposed by the eternal 
recurrence of a deep and discontented scep- 
ticism. But there is only one who has dared to 
represent himself as the victim of those name- 
less and undefiaable sufferings. Goethe chose 
lor his doubts and his darkness the ten-ible 
disguise of the mysterious Faustus. Schiller, 
with still gi-eater boldness, planted the same 
anguish in the restless, haughty, and heroic 
bosom of Wallenstein. ButByron has sought 
jio external symbol in which to embody the 
inquietudes of his soul. He takes the world, 
and all that it inherits, for his arena and his 
spectators ; and he displays himself before 
their gaze, wrestling unceasingly and ineffec- 
tually with the demon that torments him. At 
times, there is something mournful and de- 
pressing in hisscepticism ; but oftener itis of 
a high and solemn character, approaching to 
the very verge of a confiding faith. What- 
ever the poet may believe, we, his readers, 
always feel ourselves too much ennobled and 
elevated, even by his melaiicholy, not to be 



confirmed in our ownbefief by the very doubt* 
so majestically conceived and uttered. His 
scepticism, if it ever approaches to a creed, 
carries with it its refutation in its grandeur. 
There is neither philosophy nor religion in 
those bitter and savage taunts which have 
been cruelly thrown out, from many quarters, i 
against those moods of mind which are in\o- 
luntary, and will not pass away ; the shadows 
and spectres which still haunt his imagination 
may once have disturbed our own ; — thi oiigh 
his gloom there are frequent flashes of illuini- 
nation ; — and the sublime sadness which to 
him is breathed from the mysteries of morta) ' 
existence, is always joined with a longing 
after immortality, and expressed in language 
tliat is itself divine — Wilsox. 

NoTK 17, p. 100. — An allusion to the mat 
ter of the second and fourth verses of the 
sixth chapter of Genesis. — " And it came to 
pass that the Sons of God saw the daughters 
of men, that they wer:; fair." — " There were 
giants in the earth in those days ; and also 
after that, when the Sons of God came in 
unto the daughters of men, and they bare 
children to them, the same became mighty 
men, which were of old, men of renown." 

Note 18, p. 101. — "But what can I sav of 
the Coliseum ? It must be seen ; to desnibe 
it I should have thought impossible, if I had 
not read ' Manfred.' To see it aright, ii.> the 
Poet of the North tells us of the fair Melrose, 
one ' must see it by the pale moonlight.' The 
stillness of night, the whispering, echoes, the 
moonlight shadows, and the awful grandeur 
of the impending ruins, form a scene of ro- 
mantic sublimity, such as Byron alone could 
describe as it deserves. His description is 
the very thing itself." — Matthews's Diarg 
of an Invalid. 



l^Q\t% to OTam. 



Note 1, p 104.— That the Old Testament 
contains repeated passages which directly 
allude to a future being, is incontestable, 
and it is as certain also that the drift of the 
whole hi£*ory of Abraham and his descend- 
ants b'iars 1 similar interpretation. So con- 
stant, in fact, and so often reiterated, are the 
Pfisitive indications of futurity, that it were 
quite supererogatory to cite any here. 

NoTB 2,' p. 105. — " Prayer," said Lord 



Byron, at Cephalonia, " does not « insist ia 

tli'e act of kneeling, nor in repeating certain 
words in u solemn manner. Devotion is tha 
affection of the heart, and this I feel ; for 
when I view the wonders of creation, I bow 
to the maje.sty of heaven; and when I feel the 
enjoymentof life, health, and happiness, I feci 
grateful to God for having bestowed these 
upon me." — Kennedy's Cot lertitiont 
p. 135. 



NOTES. 



523 



NoTB 3, p. 105.— Tills passage affords a 
key to the temper and frame of mind of Caia 
throughout the piece. He disdains the li- 
mited txisteucc. allotted to him; he has a 
rooted horror of death, attended with a vehe- 
meet curiosity as to his nature ; and he nou- 
rishes a sullen anger against his parents, to 
whose misconduct he ascribes his degraded 
state. Added to this, he has an insatiable 
thirst for knowledge beyond the bounds pre- 
scribed to mortality ; and this part of the poem 
bears a strong resemblance to Manfred, whose 
countei-pait, indeed, in the main points of 
character, Cain seems to be. — Campbell. 

Note 4, p. 106. — Cain's description of the 
approach of'Lucifer would have shone in the 
*' Paradise Lost." There is something spiii- 
tually fine in this conception of the terror ol 
presentiment of coming evil. — Jeffrey. 

Norii 6, p. 107.—" In this long dialogue, 
the tempter tells Cain (who is thus far sup- 
posed to be ignorant of the fact) that the soul 
IS immortal, and that " souls who dare use 
their immortality " are condemned by God to 
be wretched everlastingly. This sentiment, 
which is the pervading niorci (if we may call 
it so) of the play, is developed in the lines 
which follow." — Hebee. The criticism is 
neither true nor just, and Lord Byron repu- 
diates the inuendo with gieat reason. It 
were absurd to represent Cain and Satan like 
two ai-ohangels of light. 

Note 6, p. 107. — The tree of life was 
doubtless a material tree, producing material 
fruit, proper as such for the nourishment of 
the body; but was it not also set apart to be 
partaken of as a symbol or sacrament of that 
celestial principle which nourishes the soul to 
Lmmortality? — Bishop Horne. 

Note 7, p. 108.— It may appear a very 
prosaic, but it is certainly a very obvious cri- 
licisra on these passages, that the young 
family of mankind had, long ere this, been 
quite familiar with the death of animals — 
some of whom Abel was in the habit of offer- 
ing up as sacritices ; so that it is not quite 
conceivable that they should be so much at 
a loss to conjectuie what death was. — 
Jeffrbt. 

Note 8, p. 115. — It is not very easy to 
perceive what natural or rational object the 
Devil proposes to himself in carrying his 
disciple through the abyss of space, to show 
him that repository of which we remember 
hearing something i i our infant days, '' where 
the old aaoons aie hung up to dry." To 



prove tl»at there is a life beyond the grave, 
was surely no part of his business wlien he 
was engaged in fostering the indignation of 
one who repined at the necessity of dying. 
And, though it would seem, that entire Hades 
is, in Lord Byron's picture, a place of suffer 
ing, yet, wheii Lucifer himself had premised 
that these sufieriiigs were tlie lot of those 
spirits who had sided wi'.h him against 
Jehovah, is it likely that a more accurate 
knowledge of them would increase Cain's 
eagerness for the alliance, or that he would 
not rather have inquired whether a better 
fortune did not await the adherents t;f the 
triumphant side? At all events, t'.ie spec- 
tacle of many ruined worlds was more likely 
to awe a mortal into submission, than to 
rouse him to hopeless resistance ; and, even 
if it made hirxi a hater of God, had no na- 
tiu-al tendency to render him furious against 
a brother who was to be his fellow-sufferer. — 
IIebeb. 

Note 9, p. 115. — "Death, the last and 
most dreadful of all evils, is so far from 
being one, that it is the infallible cure for 
all others— 

' To die, is landing on some silent shore, 
Where billows never beat, nor tempests 

roar : 
Ere well we feel the friendly stroke, 'tis 
o' er. 
But was it an evil ever so great, it could not 
be remedied but by one much greater, which 
is, by living forever; by which means our 
wickedness, unrestrained by the prospect of 
a i'uture state, would grow so insupportable, 
our sufferings so intolerable by perseveianv;^, 
and our pleasures so tiresome by repetition, 
that no being in the universe could be so 
completely miserable as a species of imniorttJ 
men. We have no reason, therefore, to look 
upon death as an evil, or to fear it as a pu 
nishment, even without any supposition of 8 
future life : but if we consider it as a passage 
to a more perfect state, oi a remove only in 
an eternal succession of still improving states 
(for which we have the strongest reasons), iS 
will then appear a new favou: .1 >m thedivitA 
munificence ; and a man must be as absurd 
to repine at dying, as a traveller would be 
who proposed to himself a delightful tour 
through various unknown countries, to la- 
ment that he cannot take up his resitf 5nce at 
the first dirty inn which he baits at on the 
roatl. The instability of human life, or of the 
changes of its successive periods, of which w« 



524 



NOTES. 



BO frequently complain, are no more than the 
\iecessary progress of it to ibis necessary con- 
clusion ; and aie so far trom being evils de- 
serving these complaints, that tbey are ttie 
source of our greatest pleasures, as they are 
the source of all novelty, from which our 
greatest pleasuies are ever derived. The 
continual successions of seasons in the human 
life, by daily presenting to us new scenes, 
render it agreeable, and, lilce those of the 
year, afford us delights by their change, 
which the choicest of them could not give us 
by their continuance. In the spring of life, 
the gilding of the sunshine, the verdure of the 
fields, and the variegated paintings of the 
sky, are so exquisite in the eyes of infants at 
their first looking abroad into a new world, 
as nothing perhaps afterwards can equal. 
The heat and vigour of the succeeding sum- 
mer of youth ripen for us new pleasures, — 
the blooming maid, the nightly revel, and the 
jovial chase : the serene autumn of complete 
manhood feasts us with the golden harvest of 
our worldly pursuits; nor is the hoary wniter 
of old age destitute of its peculiar comforts 
and enjoyments, of which the recollection and 
relation of those past are perhaps none of the 
least ; and at last death opens to us a new 
prospect, from whence we shall probably look 
back upon the diversions and occupations of 
this wodd with the same contempt we do now 
on our tops and hobby-horses, and with the 
same surprise that they could ever so much 
entertain or engage us." — Jenyns. — " These," 
says Dr. Johnson, " are sentiments which, 
though 7iot new, may be read with pleasure 
and profit, in the thousandth repetition." 

Note 10, p. 116. — A speculation of Lord 
Byron's, whicli is not without much of 
reason, although it might be sneered at by 
tliG ov'ir accurate men of science on the one 
hand, as by the straight-laccd minions of 
orthodoxy on the other. There is at least 
this comfort in admitting the origin of man- 
kind as it is recorded in Genesis, that it 
saves one the trouble of an endless and pro- 
fitless research. And, after all, the matter is 
not of the remotest consequence to mankind. 
One hypothesis is just as good as another. 
The only difference is, that some are more 
consoling and satisfactory than others. The 
whole matter, after all, resolves itself into the 
Idea which has always prevailed, and which 
alone is accommodated to the inteUigence ol 
man, that the world (our world,) in its present 
eonstruction, h&d a beginning ; and that the 



simplest way of accounting Tor its ori^. ' 
(apart from any imperative dogma or revel« 
tion,) is to attribute it at once to the maste* 
hand of a Creator. 

Note 11, p. 116. — Hades is a place, in 
Lord Byron's description, very different froi^i 
all that we had anticipated. He .suppo-ictf 
that the world which we now inhabit had 
been preceded by many successive worlds, 
which had each, in turn, been created acj 
ruined; and the inhabitants of which he de- 
scribes, on grounds sufficiently probable tor 
poetry, as proportioned, in bodily and intel- 
lectual strength, to those gigantic specimens 
of animal existence whose remains still per- 
plex the naturalist But he not only places 
the pre-Adamite giants in Hades, but the 
ghosts of the Mammoth and Megatherian, 
their contemporaries, and, above all, the 
phantoms of the worlds themselves which 
these beings inhabited, with their mountains, 
oceans, and forests, all gloomy and sad loge- 
ther, and (we suppose he means) in a state ot 
eternal suffering. We really think that this 
belongs to that species of sublime, which is 
considerably less than a single step removed 
from the ridiculous. — Hebeb. 

Note 12, p. 120. — "It would be to no 
purpose to suppose two such opposite prin- 
ciples. For, admit that a being infinitely 
mischievous were infinitely cunning, and in- 
finitely powerful, yet it could do no evil, be- 
cause the opposite principle, of infinite good-^ 
ness, being also infinitely wise and powerful, 
they would tie up one another's hands: so 
that upon this supposition, the notion of a. 
deity would signify just -nothing ; and, bj 
virtue of the eternal opposition and equalit> 
of these principles, they would keep one ano 
ther at perpetual bay ; and, being an equal 
match for one another, instead of being two, 
deities, they would be two idols, able to do 
neither good nor evil." — Tillotson. 

Note 13, p. 120. — " Whatever we enjoy 
is purely a free gift from our Creator ; but 
that we enjoy no more, can never, sure, be 
deemed an injury, or a just reason to question 
his infinite benevolence. All our happinese 
is owing to his goodness ; but that it is nn 
greater, is owing only to ourselves; that is. 
to our not having any inherent righi, to any 
happiness, or even to any existence at all."— 
Jenyns. 

Note .14, p. 127. — The names of the riven 
which enclosed the region of man 't ftrst purity 
and ha])piness. 



NOTES. 



62i 



Notes to ^o\xx% of Mcness. 



NoTB 1, p. 130.--The Earl of Carlisle is 
bere indicaie<l. 

Note 2, p. 530.— See Boswells Life of 
J^h.^ion, vol. viii., p. 91. London : 183-3. 

NoTB 3, p. 630.— This was at least one of 
the first productions of the giealest of modern 
poets, and with the natural love which every 
.author bears towards his literary oflspring, 
Lord Bvron was very jealous of lacerating it 
afterwards. He was only fourteen years old 
when this piece was written, and much as his 
first productions were abused, it might pass 
muster in collections of greater pretensions 
Uian was the first volume which was issued 
from the press under his name. 

Note 4, p. 130.— This fragment refers to 
the son of one of Lord Byron's tenants on the 
Newstead Estate, with whom the author con- 
tracted a very early and warm friendship. 

NoTK 5, p. 131. — This piece is addressed 
to Lord Delawarr. 

Note 6, p. 131.— See note ante. 

Note 7, p, 131.— Lord Byron had a pecu- 
liar antipathy to elaborate inscriptions and 
pompous sepulchres, from his earliest years. 
He alwavs indicated his wish that whoever 
performed the last duties for himself would be 
as brief and simple as possible in marking his 
final resting place- He left directions of the 
same kind in a will. 

Note 8, p. 131.— The antiquity of New- 
stecid Abbey is undoubted. It dales back to 
the latier end of'the twelfth century, and 
passed from its monastic possessions into tlie 
hands of Lord Byron's ancestors at the period 
when all establishments of the ki-id were 
arrested from ecclesiastical corporations. 

V TE 9, p. 131, — The part taken in the 
Holy ^\ars by the ancestors :* Lord Byron 
6 lAore than problematical—- indeed it be 
ai- re than a piece of family tradition: they, 
at least, attained no historicf.1 celebrity, and 
the name does not appear v?ry prominently 
until niuch later in the reconH of this country 
itself. Mr. Moore has end'vavoured to ac 
count fur it, by explaining some piece of 
decoration in New^tt,•ad Abbey. But it must 
be borne in mind either that this symbol is of 
modern construction, or that it had no con- 
lection whatever witl^ti^e family of the author, 



who did not become possessors of the Abbey 
until the reign of Henry VIIL, if not later. 

Note 10, p. 131. — '• In the park of Horst- 
ley, there was a castle, some of the ruins o. 
which are yet visible, called Horistan Castle, 
which was the chief mansion of Ralph de 
Burun's successors." — Thorotox. 

Note 11, p. 132.— Some of the ancestors 
of Lord Byron are recorded to have sei ved at 
the siege of Calais, iemp. Edward III. as well 
as at Cressy, 

Note 12, p. 132.—The field of Marston 
Moor, so fatal to the royalists in the civit 
wars. 

Note 13, p. 1 32. — See Clarendon's Hit- 
tory of the Rebellion. 

Note 14, p. 132.— See the same: in which 
Sir Nicholas Byron is frequently mentioned 
with honour aniougst the most zealous par- 
tisans of Charles I. 

Note 15, p. 132. — This piece as well as 
some others which are inserted here, appears 
to have been written during Lord Byron's 
pupilage at Harrow ; but whether as a por- 
tion of his class-work or not, is not apparent. 

Note 16, p. 133. — An allusion to liie seem, 
ing inequality in the fate of individuals. 

Note 17, p. 134. — Lord Byron somewhere 
relates that some of his earliest effusions in 
the shape of school exercises, were not by 
any means ilatteriugly received by Dr. Drury, 
then head master at Harrow. The reason 
it would seem was, that most of these were 
written against the inclination and as tasks, 
and it must be admitted, that it was not until 
the publication of " English Bards and Scotch 
Reviewers" that he had signalised his pre- 
eminent talents. No one dreamt of his be- 
coming an illustrious Poet during his school 
career. 

Note \S^ p. 137 — Lord Byron took great 
delight in the translations of the minor works 
of Camoens published by Lord Straugt'ord 
about this period. 

Note 19, p. 137.—" The latter years of 
Camoens present a mournful picture, not 
merely of individual calamity, but of national 
ingratitude He whose best years had /:een 
devoted to the service of his country, he who 
had taught her literary fame to riva lh« 



526 



NOTES. 



proudest efforts of Italy itself, and who seemed 
born Co revive the remembrance of ancient 
gentility and Lusian heroism, was compelled 
40 "Wander through the streets, a wretched de- 
pendent on casual contribution. One Iriend 
.ulone remained to smooth his downward path, 
and guide his steps to the grave with gentleness 
and consolation. It was Antonio, his slave, a 
native of Java, who had accompanied Carao- 
ens to Europe, after having rescued him from 
the waves, when shipwrecked at the mouth of 
the Mecon^ This faithful attendant was wont 
to seek alms throughout Lisbon, and at night 
shared the produce of the day with his poor 
and broken-hearted master. But his friendship 
was employed in vain. Camoens sank beneath 
the pressure of penury and disease, and died 
in an alms-house early in the year 1579." — 
Strangford. 

NoTK 20, p. 137. — Dr. Drury resigned his 
place of head-master at Harrow, in the month 
of March, 1805. He was succeded by Dr. 
Butler. 

Note 21, p. 137 — Lord Byron ever pre- 
served a very great regard for Dr. Drury, and 
has frequently expressed himself to that effect 
at later periods. 

Note 22, p. 137.— The Author has himself 
stated, what he must have felt, that he was 
by no means a general favourite amongst 
his school-fellows — not but that he contracted 
friendships at Harrow, which did not cease 
with his scliool-davs. 

Note 23, p. 137.— The Duke of Dorset, 
who was killed whilst imnting in Ireland, He 
was thrown from his horse and did not long 
survive the accident. 

Note 24, p. 137 — An allusion to the fag- 
ging system at public schools. 

Note 25, p. 138. — It does not appear that 
the remark is levelled at any person in par- 
ticular. 

Note 26, p. 131.—" Thomas Sackville 
L<rd Buckhurst, was born in 1527. While 
p. student of the Inner Temple, he wrote his 
tragedy of • Gorboduc,' which was played before 
Queen Elizabe.h at Whitehall, in I06I. His 
tragedy, and his contribution of the Induction 
and Legend of the Duke of Buckingham to the 
" Mirror for Magistrates," comprise the po- 
etical history o'' Sackville. The rest of it was 
poetical. In 1601, he was created Earl of 
Dorset by James I. He died suddenly at the 
council table, in consequence of a dropsj' on 
the brain. " — Campbell. 

Note 27, p. 138.— Charles Saokville, Earl 



of Dorset, who flourishri temp. Charlei Ti 
and William III. and wno was as remarkable 
for his valour, as for his talent, taste, and 
patronage of literature. See the casual poems 
of Dryden, Prior, Pope, Congreve, and othera 
of tliat period. 

Note 28, p. 139. — Suggested by the re- 
ceipt of intelligence reporting the death of the 
young Di.dce of Dorset, who had been one 
of Lord Byron's most couiiaui and attached 
associates. 

Note 29, p. 139. — It is well and generally 
known that the peculiar temper and tenor of 
Lord Byron's after life was attributable to his 
early disappointment at .\nnesley. According 
to Mr, Moore, Miss Cha worth was worth v of 
the esteem and admiration of her hopeless 
suitor. It was aoout the year 1804, that the 
passion which proved so fatal to his happi- 
ness was conceived or confirmed. It does 
not appear that Miss Chaworth ever enter- 
tained any reciprocal attachment for the poet ; 
and but a year after he had avowed his pas- 
sion, she was maiTied to Mr. Musters. 

Note 30, p. 139. — An ailusion to the 
" Devil on two Sticks," — the •' Diuble Boi 
teux," one of the clever satires of Le Sage. 

Note 31, p. 139. — Referring to the can- 
di dales who appeared to contest the election 
for the University of Cambridge after the 
death of Pitt. Lord Henry Petty, and Lord 
Palmerston were the persons. 

Note 32, p. 139. — Edward Harvey, third 
Lord Hawke. 

Note 33, p. 139. — -Alluding to the criticism 
Oil Greek metres, by Scale. 

Note 34, p. 139. — A very lair satire on 
the spurious Latin of schoolmen. 

Note 35, p. 139. — I'he discovery of the 
fact illustrated by the forty-seventh Proposi- 
tion of tiie fii-st book of Euclid, which hay 
been attributed to Pythagoras. 

Note 36, p. 140.— Alluding to the chspsJ 
gown woiu by the boys on saints'-days. 

Note 37, p, 140. — Lord Byron's character 
was as lervid and impetuous in his Icyhood 
as it ever was — a thing which is well illus- 
trated by the warmth and brevity of his 
school associations. He generally spoke of 
them afterwards to this etiect. 

Note 38, p. 140.— Keferring to his pugi- 
li-stic success at Harrow. 

Note 39. p. 140. — To this day, one of the 
tombs in the church-yard at Harrow is pointed 
out, as having been Lord Byron's favourite 
retreat. Here, with the beautiful view to the 



'i 



NOTES. 



527 



I •outh-westward, and with Windsor in. the 
I distance before him, would he sit for hours, 
j indulging his meditative inclinations. 
I Note 40, p. 140. — He was remarkably 
' fond of selerting pieces of passionate vthe- 
i mence for declamation on the Speech Days. 
Note -11, p. 110. — The person indicated, 
is Mossop, who was contemporaiy on the 
Stage with Garrick. 

lOOTK 42, p. 140. — Dr. Drury appears to 
have had more idea of Lord Byron's decla- 
matory powers than of his literary abilities. 
Lord Byron himself mentions the fact with 
something approaching to a gentle sarcasm 
ou Dr. Drury's lack of judgment. 

Note 43, p. 141. — There is a proverb in 
; Spanish, of which this is an accurate para- 
phrase or rather translation. 

Note 44, p. 141. — Lord Byron refers to 

one of those casual and equivocal attachments, 

of which there were many in his youth. It 

has not transpired who the heroine was, but 

enough has been gathered to detennine that 

I her station and circumstances subjected her 

to some scandal in her intercourse with a 

young peer. 

i N©te 45, p. 142. — These lines which re- 

' late to a circumstance which seems to have 

exercised a considerable effect upon Lord 

ByroH, were directed to Miss Houson. 

Note 46, p. 142. — For the use of this ex- 
pression, see Gray's Ode : 

" Hmtle through the darken'd air.** 

Note 47, p. 143. — The legal denomination 
of a person under age — a minor. 

Note 48, p. 143. — Alluding to the state 
of his mind at ihe time of his matriculation 
at the Univer-sity of Cambridge. Lord Byron 
had a predilection fo4- Oxford, and was not 
best pleased at being sejit to the other Uni- 
ver.sity, and moreover, he would according to 
his own account have prefeiTed remaining ;.t 
Harrow, to either. In addition to these little 
vexations, his temp»r was at the time very 
much ruffled by the circumstances attending 
his passionate attachment for Miss Chawortl^, 
who was married in the same year (1805.) It 
is not to be wondered at, that a person of 
such keen and deep sensibility as Lord Byro:i 
Bhould have been soured by this combination 
of contingencies, more especially when it is 
remembered that he was left absolutely with- 
out a home to attract him, or, which was 
endeared to him, an-d without any one appa- 
rently to evince the slightest solicitude re- 



specting his career or his well-being. H« 
describes himself in his Diary as having been 
at this period " about as unsocial as a wolf 
taken from the troo])." 

Note 49, p. 145. — The pibroch is not the 
instrument, as here indicated, but the air 
which is such a favourite amongst the 'bag 
pipe players of Scotland, 

Note 50, p. 149.— An allusion to a fete 
amongst (he Highlanders. 

Note 51, p. 150.— Creusa, who perished 
in the conflagi-ation of Trov. 

Note 52, p. 153.— The fable of Medea and 
Jason is far too well known to need ani- 
madversion here. This is a translation of one 
of the Choruses in the celebrated play 
of Euripides; and although it be correct as 
a paraphrase, it is rather that than a trans, 
lation. 

Note 53, p. 153. — Refer to tlie passage in 
the original. 

Note 54, p. 163.— The intention of this 
piece is not to censure the person, but the 
office. 

Note 65, p. 153. — Alluding to Demos. 
thenes. 

Note 55*, p. 153. — An allusion to the de- 
nomination of the dignitaries, who act aa 
supervisors of the Chapels at the University. 

Note 66, p. 154. — Given to the Author 
by Eddlestone, a chorister at Cambridge, to 
whom Loril Byi-cm was particularly partial. 

Note 57, p. 155. — An allusion to his par- 
ticipatiou in several private Theatrical per- 
formances, which he has recorded as so many 
boyish triumphs. 

Note 58, p 156. — The fragment to which 
Lord Byron replied through the medium of 
the Morning Chronicle, had been published in 
the columns of the Morning Post. 

Note 59, j). 156. — Harrow. 

Note 60, p. 157.— Miss E. Pigot. 

Note 61, p. 158 — One of the mo.st lofty 
and strikingly beautiful of the mountains of 
Scot and. Lord Byron's residence in the 
neighbourhood during his childhood had fur- 
nished him with some pleasing and wild rs- 
collection-s on the subject. 

Note 62, p. 158. — The Scotch are not so 
fond of perverting the pronunciation of their 
woi-ds as the English; the word in Scotch is 
pronounced as it is spelt. 

Note 63, p. 158. — It is well known that 
Lord Byron was descended, thrc«gh his mo- 
ther's family, from the branch of the house of 
Gordon, which by marriage had become ccm 



528 



NOTES. 



nected with the royal race of Stuart. The 
Goiflons were, rauny of them, amongst the 
most zealous adherents of that ill-fated family 
^ after its filial expulsion from Great Britain, 
and were involved in the luckless campaign 
of 1745. 

Note 64, p. 158. — Tt is merely by con- 
jecture, or by poetical analogy, that Lord 
Byron attributes to some of his forefathers 
t: grave on Culloden Muir. 

Note 65, p. 158. — A part of thehighlands 
of Scotland. 

Note 66, p. 158 — An allusion to the fa- 
bulous frientiship of antiquity. 

Note 67, p. 159.— Alluding to Mr. Becher, 
who signalised himself by several projects for 
Uie improvement of the condition of the 
working classes. 

Note 69, p. 159. — This is the second piece 
on the same subject. 

Note 70, p. 159. — An allusion to the foun- 
dation of the priory of Newstead by Henry II., 
which was one ,of his acts of amends for 
the assassination of Thomas a Eecket, ac- 
cording to the tradition. It is, at all events, 
ascertained that this institution took its rise 
verv shortlv after the above related event. 

Note 71, p. 160.— The Badge of the Cru- 
saders. 

Note 72, p. 160.— The Scotch term for 
twilight. 

Note 73, p. 160. — The religions establish- 
ment of Newstead Abbey was consecrated to 
the Holy Virgin. 

Note 74. p. 160. — (See note ante). 

Note 75, p. 100. — An allusion to a siege, 
of which New.stead became the scene, during 
the civil wars. 

Note 76, p. 160. — See Clarendon's Hia- 
tory of the Jtebellion, and other conteiTiporary 
royalist accounts, for the services rendered by 
the members of the family of Byron to the 
royal cause. 

Note 77. p. 160. — An allusion to the fixte 
of Lord Falkland, who was killed at one of 
ftie battles f)f Newbury and who was at that 
lime accompanying the regiment raised and 
commanded by one of the Byrons. 

Note 78, p. 161. — It is recorded amongst 
the old wives, tales of that period that a por- 
tentous storm accompanied the passing breath 
of the Great Protector. Such was the sjiper- 
stition of either party that the fact (which is 
probable enough in itself) was converted into 
an omen of vast consequence to the fate of 
the realm and the peoule. It was conve- 



niently interpreted by the one party, and feat 
fully understood bv the other. 

Note 79, p. 16*2.— Charles 11. 

Note 80, p. 162.— .\n allusion to the dis. 
covery of a brass eagle in the water which 
adorns the grounds at Newstead, wliich was 
reported to have belonged to the ecclesiastical 
occupants of the domain in olden time. 

Note 81, p. 163.— Dr. Drury, (see note 
ante). 

Note 82, p. 163.— This passage refers to 
the method adopted by Lord Byron to preserve 
the scliool-room at Harrow during the " barring 
out," which occun-ed in his pupilage at that 
college. 

Note 83, p. 163— We need not search the 
records of the school, or seek (or information 
from other sources than from Lord Byron's 
own writings (from his Diary, Correspon- 
dence, &;c.) to gather an idea of his course of 
life whilst at Harrow. He must certaiidy 
have been as troublesome and mischievous a 
pupil as ever wearied a master. 

Note 84, p. 164. — Lord Byron was deeply 
and acutely sensitive. The recun-ence of 
some old association to his mind ; the sud- 
den and unexpected meeting with some former 
companion, ever occasioned uncontrollable 
emotion within him. Wq have very many 
remarkable anecdotes illustrative of this trail 
of tenderness in his character. He has him- 
self ingeniously recorded several instanc es of 
the kind in his private memoranda ; and those 
of his acquaintances who have aflbrded their 
tribute to the literature of the age have en- 
riched his own accounts with many interesting 
details. It i.« evident enough from a multi- 
tuiic of incidents and circimistances of this kind 
that if he appeared selii.sh or acted selfishly, 
the failing had been induced by his most 
unpropitious introduction into the world and 
by the variety of embittering casualties which 
accompanied it: to all of which, most likely, 
the world owes the most beautiful of poetry. 

Note 85. p. 164— It has been reserved 
for our own time to produce one distinguished 
example of the Muse having descended upon 
a bard of a wounded .spirit, and lent her lyre 
to tell, and we trust to soothe, afliictions of'no 
ordinary description : afilictions originating 
probably in that singular combination of feel- 
ing, which has been called the poetical tern- 
perament, and which has so often saddened 
the days of those on whom it has been con 
ferred. If ever a man could lay claim to that 
character in all its strength and all its weak. 



NOTES. 



529 



aess, with its unbounded ran<»e of enjoyment, 

and its exquisite sensibility of pleasure and of 
pain, it must certainly be granted to Lord 
Byron. His own tale is partly told in two 
lines of Lara : 

•'Lefi by his sire, too young such loss to know, 
Lord of himself — that heritage of woe !" 

Sib Walter Scott. 

f Note 86, p, 164.— The Honourable John 
IWingtield, an officer in the Coldstream 
Guards, and brother to Lord Powerscourt. 

Note 87, p. 104— Mr. Cecil Tattersall. 

Note 88, p. 164. — Alluding to an incident 
whicii had weil-nigh cost Lord Bvrou hi.s life. 

Note 89, p. 164.— The Nobleman referred 
to, is the second Earl of Clare, who was a 
schoolfellow of Lord Bvron's, at Harrow. 

Note 90, p. 164— The filth Earl of Dc- 
lawarr, who was also an old associate of the 
author's. 

Note 91, p. 165. — Mr. Edward Long. 

Note 92, p. 16.). — The speeches ai Harrow. 

Note 93, p. 165. — Alluding to some com- 
plimentary expressions elicited from Dr. 
Dniry by Lord Byron's first recital. 

Note 94, p. 166. — There is a French pro- 
Terb to the following effect: — 

" L'amitie c' est I'amour sans ailes." 

Note 95, p. 166.— The work of Jamea 

Montgomery. 

Note 96, p. 166.— A general allusion to 
the indistinct notion which is commonly pos- 
sessed, concerning the heroes of history, 
whose names are in everybody's mouth. It 
is the prevailing habit of many persons to be 
perpetually citing examples of illustrious his- 
torical personages, without the least idea of 
their origin, &;c &c. 

NoTK 97, p. 1G7. — Lord Byron was par- 
ticularly alive to the smallness of his moans, 
comparetl to the rank which he held ; and 
being conscious of his own superiority, he 
was very tender of being slighted by the vul- 
gar pomp and ostentation ol wealth, and 



But, as the mighty floods of fortune roll, 
May they not mal;e one prosperous at* 
tempt ? 

Th«>se floods are far beyond the wide control 
Of which some little magnates have e'er 
dreamt ; 

And if the scornd ones should once chanco 
to Hoat, 

How will the scorners* spleen then scald 
their throat." 

Note 98, p. 167. — An adaptation of Vir- 
giVs beautiful episode, of which Nisus and 
Euryalus are the heroes. 

Note 99. p. 169. — Harrow. 

Note 100, p. 170.— Lord Clare. 

Note 101, p. 170. — An allusion to an ao- 
cidcntal coldness, which seems to have arisen 
between Lord Byron and the Earl of Clare. 

Note 102, p. 171. — Mr. Long, who was a 
companion of Lord Byron's at Harrow, and 
also a leilow student with him at Cambriiige. 

Note 103, p. 172. — Miss Chaworih, or as 
she then had become, Mrs. Musters. 

Note 104, p. 172. — A term synonymous 
with Saxon, and applied by the highlanders 
to the people of the lowlands, or of Eng- 
land. 

Note 105, p. 173.— The passage of the 
Psalm Iv. 8, " And I said. Oh ! that I had 
the wings of a dove, for then I would fly 
away and be at rest," is readily suggested to 
the reader. 

Note 106, p. 173. — Morven, a mountair 
in the county of Alerdetjn, in Scotland. It 
is of very considerable elevation. The ex- 
pression here ajijilicd to it is of frequent us* 
in the poems ol O^sian. 

Note 107, j>. 173. — A phenouencn vhicb 
has already been spoken of in the notes to 
"Manfred," (which see), in Scotland, as in 
the Alps, especially on the loftier mountains, 
it very often happens that a tbnnder-storm 
will be observable below, whilst all is as 
clear as can be above. The whirl of the' 
clouds, as if driven by an impetuous current 



consequently preferred to keep aloof IVom the *''" ^'^'"^' T^ ¥ '^^'"^^^. t>«""eath one in this 



lety which he felt would submit him to 
indignities which were imworthy of him. He 
thus saved society the humihation of having 
discarded so great a man. 

The same sentiment is expressed in a Tax 
more recent anonymous poem :— 

" Some men 'tis true, however great their soul, 
Were bom, and have been suckled in 
contempt ; 

8i> 



manner when the atmosyihere is perfectly un- 
disturbed where one is stationed. 

Note 108, p. 173. — Miss Duff — since Mra. 
Cockburn. 

Note J09, p 174 — Colblcen; the name of 
B mountain in Scotland. 

Note 110, p. 175. — Alluding to the cri- 
ticism which appeared upon an Edition ol 
the " British A-iacreon.-* 

Note 111, p 176. — Alluding to a tbrcat- 



530 



NOTES. 



oned hostile raeeting bet;reen a certain aa- 
thor ani his critic. 
Nora 112, p. 178.— -Ulegra, the illegiti- 



mate daitofiiter of Lord Brion, was buried la 
the church at Harrow, acoordiag to ias special 
cequeiit 



iSotcs to BnglisJ ^avtrs awti Scotch Mebicloers. 



Note 1, p. 177. — Hobhouse is here ro- 
ferred to. 

NoTR 2, p. 178.— See the passage io Ju- 
venal, Sat. i. 

".StJinpar ego auditor tantum? nuaquaoiae 
reponam, 
Vexalus toties rauci Theseide Codri ?" 

NoTB 3, p. 178— The epithet is peculiarly 
illustrative of Fitzgerald's caste of literary 
prndiictions; but it was really more than that 
worthy deserved, to be evsn thus severely no- 
ticed. 

Note 4, p. 178— .\ further allusion to the 
nature of Fitzgerald's celebrity. 

Note d, p. 178.— Seethe concludiug chap- 
ter of Dm Ci'iixote. 

Note 6, p. 178.— See Juvenal, Sat. i. for 
tLe parallel passage— 

" Stulta est Clementia, cum tot ubique 
■ ■.—■— occunas perituriB parcere chartae." 

NoTB 7, p. 179.— See the same— 

" Cur taraen hoc libeat potius decurrere 

campo 
Per quein masjnos equos Auruncas flexit 

aiuiuuus: 
Si vavut, et placidi rationem admittitis, 

sedam."— 

NoTB 8, p. 179.— It was whilst Lord 
Byron was engaged in the coinposiiiou of 
•his inco:npu,rabie satire that he turned his 
attention especially to the works of Pope, the 
most polished writer of tl>e English Angus- 
tan age ; and hence our author's subsequent 
a.iiniration for this, his tacit master. 

Note 9, p. 179.— An allusion to one Stott, 
of Vloniiug Po.-,t. celebrity. His literary de- 
8i3:iai.ioii. iiowever, was generally known aa 

tl.;lt n\- [LiCn 

NOTB 10, p. 179.—" When Lord liyron 
xjTote his famous satire, I had my share of 
fl&goUuliou iuu<jug uiy Letters. Mj crime 



was having written a poem for a thousand 
pounds : vvhich was no otherwise true than 
that I sold the copyright for that sum." — •Sta 
Walter Scott. 

NoTK 11, p. 179.— It Is well known that 
Lord Byron had a delicate and .scrupulous 
objection to realise money by his works. Not- 
wilhitanding the original scantiness of bis 
fortune, which had, m.)reover, been very ma^ 
terially lessened by the want of providence, 
which was by no means extraordinary ia a 
person of his inclinations and habits, and 
by the wanton extravagance which attended 
one portion of his career, and which was 
more especially attributable to Lady Byron, 
he long sternly refused the handsome remit- 
tances of Mr. Murray ; and it was not with- 
out great difficulty that he was induced to 
accept the sum of one thousand guineas 
aw irded as the price of the " Sn-ge of Go. 
rinth." Circumstances afterwards compelled 
him to accept various sum> from his pub- 
lisher which, great as they may appear, have 
left an ample margin to Mr. Murray ; and 
although the gross amount paid by the latter 
was no less than .£2-3,500, there can be no 
doubt but that he had very liberally re- 
warded his own share ia the production o* 
these works. 

NoTK 12, p. 180.— The poem, entitled 
" Thalaba," by Southey, is certainly of an 
exceptionable character. Lord Byron, who 
can never be said to have been too severe 
toward his contemporary, con-iidering the gra- 
tuitous and unmeasured manner in which 
S.)Ulhoy assailed hiui, has withered this prv* 
ductiou. 

NoTK 13, p. 180. — There is a slight in- 
congruity here, (see Southey's preface) 

NoTK 14, p. 180. ^An allusion to a ballad 
of Southey's, bearing the facetious title of 
" The Old Woman of Barkiey," which is re- 
markable for some of that author's quaint but 
meagre conceptions. 

NoTB 15, p. 180.— An aUusion to Gi^nfa 



NOTES. 



531 



parody on "SonTHSta Dactylics^ which 
appeared in the AniiJ:icobia, especially re- 
ferrinj to tl.e expression " God help thee."— ' 

" Ne'er talk of ears again! look at thy spell- 
ing book ; 

Dilworth and Dyche are both mad at thy 
quaauties— 

Dactylics calVst thou *em? — 'God help thee,' 
silly one." 

Note 16, p. 180.— An allusion to the tenor 
of the preface to tho worka of that writer. 

Note 17, p. 180. — An allusioa ta some 
poems by Coleridge. 

Note IS, p. 180.— This line originally 
Blood thus :— 

"A fellow-feeling makes us wond'rous kind." 

Note 19, i). 180.— Mr Matthew Lewis, 
who was a member of the House of Commons 
at the time. 

Note 20, p. ISO.- This contains an allu- 
sion to a passage in a piece, which appeared 
in "the Statesman," and which is attributed 
to Jekyll. It was addressed to Mr. Lewis. 

Note 21, p. 181. — Sec Lord Strvngfoud's 
Translation of Camoens at page 127, and 
note ; also the criticism on this work, which 
appeared in the Edinburgh Review at the 
time of its publication. 

Note 22, p. 181. — An allusion to the quan 
titles of spurious poems, which have been 
thrust by his translators and commentators 
upon the shoulders of Camoens, and uf which 
he was purely guiltless. 

Note 23, p. 181.—" The Triumph of Tem- 
per," and " the Triumph of Music," are 
amongst the poetical productions of Hayley. 

Njte 24, p. 181. — .^uallusion to Grahame, 
the author of a wretched production entitled 
" .S ibbaih Walks," " Biblical Pictures," and 
of other similar stuflf! Lord Byron had dig- 
tiiijjd liim by the censure. His poems are 
far beneath it, and would prob.iblv have never 
been dreamt of but for the satire. At all 
events thi^ precious writer richly deserved 
the li^h. 

Noru 2-5, p. 181. — Alluding in particular 
to f.vo productions of Mr. r>owles, the " Son- 
net to O.-ifoni," and the" Siaiizas on hearing 
ihe bells of Ostend. The last is truly a poe- 
tical subject. 

Note 26, p. 181. — An aliusion to a pre- 
cious amatory episode. 

Note 27," p. 181.— Lord Byron latterly 
eeverelj regretted the ^publication of English 



Bards and Scotch Reviewers, in which ho 
was conscious that ho had abandoned himsell 
to the utmost acrimony awakened by his 
censors, but it does not aijpcar 'hat he ever 
regretle(^ tbo figure which Bowles was made 
to cut in lihat satire. 

Note 28, p. 181.— See Pope's Dunciad. 
Curll was a Bookseller. The sobriquet oJ 
Lord Fanny will be in like manner explained. 

Note 29, p. 183. — \n allusion to the em 
ployment of Mallet by Lord B )lingbroke, in 
the exemplary service of aspersing against 
the memory of Pope. 

Note 30, p. 182 — Dennis and Ralph, who 
figure in the " Dunciad " of Pope : — 

" Silence, ye wolves! while Ralph to Cynthil 

howls, 
Making night hideous; answer him, ye owls !" 

Note 31, p. 182. — An error, see the "An- 
tiquities of Greece" or " Lempriere's Classical 
Dictionary," under the head of Helicon. 

Note 32, p. 182. — An allusion to Messieuyg 
Cottle, of whom Lord Byron says, that they 
were " once sellers of bo()k3 they did not 
write, and now writers of books they do not 
sell." They signalized themselves by the 
production, of two Epic poems, as they were 
pleased to call them. 

Note 33, p. 182. — An allusion to the au- 
thor, of a species of didactic, respecting 
" Richmond Hill," " Westminster Abbey," 
and other poems, and who crowned all by 
one of the most self-sufficient autobiographies 
that ever .stamped a man for conceit. 

Note 34, p. 182. — An allusion to the man- 
ner in which the poems of Montgomery were 
received in England and in Scotland, in each 
of which he was very differently handled. 
Lord Byron does not treat him very harshly. 

Note 3-5, p. 182. — Mr. Crowe's Criticism 
on the " English Bards and Scotch Re- 
viewers," was so just, as far as literary acu- 
men was concerned, that it induced Lord 
Byron to alter many v/ords in the original 
te.xt, particularly referred to by the Critic. 

Note 36, p. 182. — The elevation which 
overlooks liie Cai)ital of Scotland. 

Note 37, p. 182. — .Sydney Smith only re- 
tained the conduct of the Edinburgh Reviev/ 
for a few numbers. It was subseqaently 
edited by Jeffrey, who has since been Lord 
A(U'ocate of Scotland, and a Lord of the 

Note 38, p. 182. — An allusion to the Hos- 
tile meeting between Jeffrey and Moore, aa4 



532 



NOTES. 



n 



to the tattle which became current respecting 
U in the papers concerning the interlerence 
of the authorities, and the harmless manner 
in which the arms were found to have been 
bsded. 

Note 39, p. 183. — A bantering sally, in- 
Tolving the question of national rivairy. 

Note 40, p. 183.— The sarcasm "is too 
local to be of much interest now. Yet it is 
certainly well pointed at the virtuoso and an- 
tiquarian affectation of that nobleman, and 
was well understood by himself and by those 
who were acquainted with his pretensions 
and pursuits. 

Note 41, p. 183. — A writer who was oc- 
cupied especially with the study and transla- 
ti'.'ii of the literature o! Iceland and Norway. 

Note 43, p. 183 — Sydney Smith. 

Note 43, p. 183. — An allusion to one of 
ilailam's criticisms. 

Note 44, p. 183.— A tutor at Eton. 

Note 4a, p. 183. — A.a allusion to critical 
and dramatical works by that author. 

Note 46, p. 183. — Referring to the couse- 
quences of some of Brougham's ainicies in 
the Edinburgh Iteview. 

Note 47, p. 183. — Refer to the cover of 
Uiai periodical. 

Note 48, p. 183.— Lord Henry Petty, one 
of the great wits of his day, since better 
known as Marquis of Lansdowne. 

Note 49, p. 183.— Alluding to some trans- 
lations by Lord Holland. 

Note 50, p. 183. — .\ remark touching her 
critical supremacy. 

Note 51, p. 183— See the play of Tekeli. 

Note 53, p. 183. — Adapting that author's 
prevailing phrases. 

Note 53, p. 184. — Kenny, whose dra- 
matical productions had secured him so high 
a reputation, and who it will be remembered 
died very suddenly on the eve of a benefit 
which had been very liberally got up in his be- 
half in the course of the present summer (1849). 

Note 54, p. 184. — .Alluding to some tnciis 
played by that gentleman during his manage- 
ment oi Drury Lane. 

Note 55, p. 184. — The exceeding hilarity 
and joyous wit o! Colma.i rendered him very 
Cinineni as a boon companion. 

Note 56, p. 184.— Cumberland, whose 
works were so popular in their day. 

Note 57, p. 184— Alhiding to the success 
of a pantomime, by Dibdin. 

Note 58, p. 184. — The occupation of that 
fwwin about Drury Lane Theatre. 



NoTB 59, p. 184 — An allusion to SkeC 

fington's dramatical works. 

Note 60, p. 184.— Both well known upon 
the boards. 

Note 61, p. 184— The place and not th« 
person. 

Note 63, p. 181.— The relations of Petro. 
nius with the Emperor Nero are well known. 

Note 63, p. 185.— Mr. Andrews, apowde? 
manuiacturer and small writer in his way. 

Note 64. p. 185.— An allusion to a pam 
phlet by the Earl of Carlisle on the condition 
of the English drama. 

Note 65, p. 185— A parody ridiculing • 
poem entitled "Elijah's Mantle." 

NoTV 66, p. 185— An allusion to some 
trifling works. 

Note 67, p. 186. — Assumed names cur- 
rently known at the time as attached to the 
fragmentary poetry of the papers. 

Note 6*8, p. 186.— The same to whon» 
Lord Byron has addressed a small piece. 
(See Occasional Pieces). Joseph Blackett 
was a shoemaker. 

Note 69, p ]86.— Indicating the same. 

Note 70, p. 186 —A sarcasm on the os- 
tentatious patronage of Mr. LoiTt 

Note 71, p. 186.— Alluding to a piece by 
Bloomheld. 

Note 72, p 188.— Refer to the " Recoi- 
lections of a Weaver." 

Note 73, p. 186.— Fhomas Campbell and 
Samuel Rogers, whose reputation was long 
since established by the " Pleasures of Hope" 
of the one, and the " Pleasures of Memory" 
of the other. 

Note 74, p. 186.— Gifford, well known as 
the author of the Baviad and Majviad. 

Note 75, p. 186. — The author of some 
translations and original works. The name 
of Soiheby is so little lieard of now, that the 
satirical censure of Lord Byron seems W 
have been confirmed by public opinion. 

Note 76, p. 183— .^Llcnei^s poems haft 
an astonishing run in their turn. 

Note 77, p. 186 — An allusion to an no- 
nounccment of Gitlbrd's. 

Note 78, p. ISO.— The melancholy death 
and the merits of Kirke While are well known. 

Note 79, p. 187.— Shee, who from his lit 
tie productions of tiiat period, has since at 
tained great eminence. 

Note 80, p. 187.— Mr. Wright, whosa 
poem entitled " Horae lonica;" is certainl| 
distinguished by great nierit. 

JsfoTE 81, p." 187.— Bland and Uerirala, 



ISrOTES. 



533 



Note 82, p. 187. — Lamb and Lloyd. 

Note S3, p. 188.— \lluding to" the Ship. 
in-eck of St. Paul," by Hoare. 

Note 84, p. 188.— Alluding to " Exodns," 
by Hoyle. 

Note 85, p. 183. — See the preface to 
^ Exodus," (note 84.) The Book of Play by 
another Hoyle is of more established repu- 
tation. 

Note 86, p. 188. — A sarcastic adaptation 
ol the passage in Gibbon's " Decline and Fall 
»f the Romon Empire," vol. ii. p. 83. " Into 
Cambridgeshire the Emperor Piobiis trans- 
ported a considerable body of Vandals." 
^, Note 87, p. 188. — A writer whose first 
"^pioduction, a translation, was worthy of the 
admiration which it met. 

Note 88, p. 183.— Thus written. 

Note 89, p. 188.— A poem entitled the 
" Aboriginal Britons. " 



NoTB 90, p. 188.— Alluding to a canstio 

remark respecting the Duke of Portland 

Note 91, p. 188.— Georgia. 

Note 92, p. 188. — Sir John Carr was no 
torious for his love of gossip. 

Note 93, p. 188. — .1 sarcasm on the eager 
nes< of Lord Elgin, to attribute all his pil- 
fered marbles to the hand of Phidias. 

Note 94, p. 188. — " Classic" was the 
term used in the original text ; it was not 
until several editions had been printed, that 
the word " rapid " was substituted. 

Note 95, p. 188. — An allusion to Gell's 
researches on the site of ancient Troy, and 
to his work on the subject. 

Note 96, p. 189. — In after years, Lord 
Byron felt and expressed considerable re- 
gret that this poem should ever have seen 
tlie day. 



Notes to l^cbrefo j!$lelol3ff0S. 



■NoTB l,p. 190. — Thb author was never 
over-proud of these proda-Jtions. 

Note 2, p. 190.— The measure of Jewish 
Minstrelsy was alwfeys arbitrary. 

Note 3, p. 190. — Lines suggested by the 
dress of a lady, who was p.-esent at an en- 
tertainment in which Lord Bstou took part. 

Note 4, p. 194. — Mariamne, the wife of 
Herod the Great, falling under the suspicion 
of infidelity, was put to death, by his order. 
She was a woman of nnri vailed beauty, and 



a haughty spirit: unhappy in being the object 
of passionate attachment which bordered on 
frenzy, to a man who had more or less con- 
cern in the murder of her grandfather, father, 
brother, and uncle, and who had twice com- 
manded her death, in case of his own. Ever 
after, Herod was haunted by the image of 
the murdered Mariamne, until disorder of the. 
mind brought on disorder of body, which \&S 
to temporary derangement. — Milman. 



tNTotcs to (!^t(c to iSapoIeon. 



Note 1, p. 197.— 
' Produce the urn that Hannibal contains, 
And weigh the mighty dust which yet remains. 
And is this all ! " 

I know not that this was ever done in the old 
world; at least, with regard to Hannibal: 
but, in tlie statistical account of Scotland, I 
find that Sir John Paterson had the curiosity 
to collect, and weigh, the ashes of a person 
discovered, a few years since, in the parish 
of Eccles; which ho was happily enabled to 
do with great facility, as "the inside of the 
coflin was smooth, and the whole body visible." 



Wonderful to relate, lie found the whole did 
not exceed in weight one ounce and a hall' 
And 18 THIS all! Alas! the qrtot librasiiaeM 
is a satirical exaggeration. — Gifford. 

IS GTE 2. p. 197.— See Cassiodorus respecting 
the great battle fought by Attila on the Cata- 
launean plain. 

NoTK .3, p. 197.— Sylla. 

Note 4, p. 198.— Count Nelpperg, who aftei^ 
wards married Maria Louisa. 

Note 5, p. 198.— The well-known anecdote 
of Dionysius the younger. 



534 



NOTES. 



Note 6, p. 198.— Allusion to the Iron 
Cage, in wiiich Bajazet II, was paraded about 
by Timour the Tartar. 

NoTK 7, p. 198. — Prometheus, (see Lem- 
priet'$ C'las*. Diet.) 



NoTK 8, p. 198.— A story of thij kind \a 

told of Napoleon: the lines were perhaps sug. 
gested by ihose of Shaksvpeaie : 

" The very hend's arch mock, — 

" To Up a wanton, and suppose her cha&te.' 



Notes to ^6e €\xx%z oC i^lmcrba. 



NoTB 1, p. 1&9. — This satire was too 
severely personal for even Lord Byron lo 
suffer its full dissemination at the period when 
it was written. The apologists of Lord Elgin, 
however, sadly fail in making out their case 
when they urge in his deJeiice that the col- 
lection of .Athenian marbles " has been of the 
most essential advantage to the hue arts of 
our own countiy." 

Note 2, p. 199. — See note ante ; and an 
account of the death of Socrates. 

Note 3, p. 199. — See note ante (to the 
•* Giaour.") 

Note 4, p. 199. — See note ante (to the 
word "kiosk.") 

Note 6, p 200. — On the plaster wall, on 
the west side of the chapel, these words have 
been very deeply cut : — 

Quod non fecekunt Goti, 

Hoc FECESUNT ScOTI. 

The mortar wall, yet fresh when we saw it, 
supplying the place of the statue now in 
Lord Elgin's collection, serves as a comment 
on this text. This eulogy of the Goliis al- 
ludes to an unloundea story of a Greek his- 
torian, who relate.s that Alaric, either terrilied 
by two phantoms, one of Minerva herself, 
the other of Achilles, terrible as when he 
strode towards the walls of Troy to his friends, 
cr struck with a reverential respect, had. 



spared the treasures, ornaments, and people 
ol the venerable city. — Hobhouse. 

Note 6, p. 200. — Alluding to Athens gene- 
rally. 

Note 7, p. 200. — Alluding to the notices o 
that nobleman which have been queslionablj 
carved in the Parthenon, &c. 

Note 8, p. 200. — A citation. The term ii 
merely adopted. 

Note 9, p. 201.— The grant of !£35,000, foi 
the purchase ol Lord Elgin's collection. 

Note 10, p. 20i. — Aiiuriing to a remark oJ 
West s on the subject. 

Note 11, p. 201.— A term aptly applied to 
the residence oi Led Elgin. 

Note 12, p. 201, — That the Elgin marbles 
will conu-ibute lo the improvement of art in 
England, cannot be doubted. They must 
certainly open the eyes of British artists, and 
prove that the true and only road to simpli- 
city and beauty is llie study of nature.— 
H. VV. Williams. 

Note 13, p. 201. — An allusion to Copen- 
hagen 

Note 14, p. 201. — See the lines of Pope : 

'' Biest paper credit ! last and best supply, 
That lends corruption lighter wings to hy !'* 

Note 15, p. 201. — An allusion iq the uado 
in bullion and coin, so actively cairied on 
from the south-eastern ports dming the war. 



Koics to %\^t IBream, 



Note 1, p. 203, — This mo.st melancholy but 
beautiful poem in which the most cankering 
Borrow of Lord Byron is imbosomed was hist 
entitled " The Destiny." 

Note 2, p. 204. — An atUchment which 
Lord Byron concealed. 



Note 3, 204. — A very true and painfui re. 
presentation of the actual celebration of his 
own marriage. It argrees, in many circun*- 
stances, with Lord Byron's prose account ol 
the wedding in his Memoranda. 

Note 4, p. 205. — Mithridates of PonlMk 



NOTES. 



535 



Notts to ®i)e Lament of ^asso. 



K)TB 1, p. 206. — This poem was suggested 
Sy a very briet visit to the place of confine- 
caent of the gieaiet-t of Italian poets, at Feirar. 

Note 2, p. 20b.— Ill the Hospital of St.. 
Anna, at Ferrara, they show a cell, over the 
door of which is the following inscription : — 
' Rispeitate, O posteri, la celebrita di questa 
stanza, dove Torquuto Tasso, infertno piii di 
tristezza che delirio, ditcnuto dimoro anni 
vii. mesi ii., scrisse verse e prose, e fu rimesso 
in liberia ad instanza della citta di Bergamo, 
nel giorno vi. Luglio, 1586." — The dungeon 
is beiow the ground door of the hospital, and 
the light penetrates through its grated win- 
dow from a small yard, which seems to have 
been cr)mmon to other cells. It is nine paces 
long, between five and six wide, and about 
seven feet high. The bedstead, so they tell, 
has been carried ojf piecemeal, and the door 
half cut away, by the devotion of those whom 
" the verse and prose," of the prisoner have 
brouglu to Ferrara. The poet was confined 
in this room from the middle of March, 1579, 
to December, 1580, when he was removed to 
a coniiguous apartment much larger, in which, 
to use his own expressions, he could " philo- 
sopliise and walk about." — Hobhousu. 

Note 3, p. 207.^For nearly the first year 
of his confinement Tasso endured all the hor- 
rors of a solitary cell, and was under the caie 
of a gaoler, whose chief virtue, although he 
was a i)oet and a man of letters, was a cruel 
obedience to the commands of his prince. 
His name was Agostino Mosti Tasso says 
of him, in a letter to his sister, " ed usa 
meco ogni sorle di rigore ed inumauita." — 

HoUIIoUSE. 

Note 4, p. 207.— This fearful picture is 
iiaeW contrasted with that which Tasso draws 



of himself iu youth, when nature and medi- 
tation were fomiing his wild, romanuc -ind 
impassioned genius. Indeed, the great ex- 
cellence of the "Lament" consists in tha 
ebbing and flowing of the noble prisoner's 
soul ; — his feelings often come suddenly from 
afar ofl' — sometimes gentle airs are breathing, 
ana then all at once arise the storms and 
tempest, — the gloom, though black as niglit 
while it endures, gives way to frequent bursts 
of radiance, — and when the wild strain is 
closed, our pity and commiseration are blend 
ed with a sustaining and elevating sense of 
the grandeur and majesty of his character.— 
Wilson. 

Note 5, p. 207. — Not long after his im- 
prisonment, TassO appealed to the mercy 
of Alfonso, in a canzone of great beauty, 
couched in terms so respectful and pathetic 
as must have moved, it might be thought, 
the severest bosom to relent. The heart of 
Alfonso was, however, impregnable to the 
appeal; and Tasso, in another ode to the 
princesses, whose pity he invoked in the name 
of their own mother, who had herself known, 
if not the like horrors, the like solitude of 
imprisonment, and bitterness of soul, made a 
similar appeal. — Life of Tasso, vol. ii. 
p. 408. 

Note 6, p. 207. — The hislorical allusion 
itself is open to question. 

Note 7, p. 207. — Tasso's profound and 
unconquerable love for Leonora, sustaining 
itself without hope throughout years of dark- 
ness and solitude, breathes a moral dignity 
over all his sentiments, and we feel the 
strength and power of his noble spirit in the 
un-upbraiding devotedness of his passiou, — 
Wilson. 



Notes to tSe Fiston of gjutjgment 



Note 1, p. 309. — A very severe satire on 
the poem under the same title, by Southey. 

Note 2, p. 209.— Alluding to the refusal 
of an injunction to protect the copyright of 
" Wat i'yler." 

Note 3, p. 209. — See Parliamentary De- 
(iates, Mai-ch 14th, 1817 Southey's Reply. 



Note 4, p. 209. — The well-known inscrip- 
tion by Southey, in which he celebrates tha 
aspirations of Martin the regicide, who was 
imprisoned for thirty years in Chepstow 
Castle. 

Note 6, p. 209. — An imitation of the lines 
published in the " Anti-Jacobin." 



636 



NOTES. 



Note e, p. 310.— Mr. Walter Savage 
Landor, well known in the literaiy world 
for his classical and critical acumen, was 
amongst the earlier acquaintances of Southey. 

Note 7, p. 211.— The period of the death 
of George III. was marked by the general 
revolts in the southern part of Europe. 

Note 8, p. 212 — An allusion to the fate 
of Louis XVI. 

Note 9, p. 213.— Suggested by the de- 
scription of the remarkable Aurora Borcalis, 
witnessed by Captain Parry in his voyage, 
(1819-20.) 

Note 10, p. 313. — For a notice of Johanna 
Southcote, see the Quarterly Review, vol. 
xxiv. p. 496. 

Note 11, p. 214. — " No saint in the course 
of his religious warfare was more sensible of 
the unhappy failui-e of pious resolves than 
Dr. Johnson : he said one day, talking to an 
acquaintance on this subject, ' Sir, hell is 
paved with good intentions.'" — Boswell, 
vol. V. p. 305, ed. 1835. 

Note 12, p. 215.— Alluding to the obstinate 
opposition oifered to all conciliatory mea- 
sures towards the Roman Catholics, by 
George III. 

Note 13, p. 216. — The Lord Chamberlain's 
Badge. 

Note 14, p. 216.— Alluding to an ex- 
pression used bv Horace Walpole. 

Note 15, p. 217.— Mr. Wilkes made him- 
self sufficiently notorious in his own time. 

Note 16, p." 218. — The suppo.-sititious au- 
thors of the letters of Junius. 

Note 27, p. 218.— Alluding to a work pro- 
fessedly elucidating the great mystery of the 
reign of Louis XIV, " the man with the Iron 
Mask ;" and to anotlter work on the same 



subject by Lord Dover. It should be re. 
marked that these elucidations do not seem to 
have done much towai-ds setting the question 
at rest. It is as much a matter of doubt 
now as ever. 

Note 18, p. 218.--That the work entitled 
" The identity of Junius with a distinguished 
Living Character established" proves Sir Philip 
Francis to be Junius, we will not affirm ; but 
this we can safely asseit, that it accumulates 
such a mass of circumstantial evidence as 
renders it extremely difficult to believe he is 
not, and that, if so many coincidences shall 
be found to have misled us in this case, our 
faith in all conclusions drawn from proofs of a 
similar kind may henceforth be shaken. — 
Mackintosh. 

Note 19. p. 219,— The motto of Junius. 

Note 20, p. 212. — The reUeat of Southey 
in the North of England. 

Note 21, p. 219. — See the lines of Horace: 
— " Mediocribus esse poetis 
Non Di, non homines, non concessere co- 
lumn 8B.'* 

Note 22, p. 219.— The well known habit 
of George III. of reiterating his words, which 
has been admirably caricatured by Peter 
Pindar. 

Note 23, p. 219. — Pye was the Laureate 
whom Southev succeeded. 

Note 24, p.' 220.- Refer to the life of Kirke 
White, attached to his poems. 

Note 25, p. 220. — Alluding to a shrewd re- 
mark on the absurdities of the Piolomean 
system. 

Note 26, p. 220. — See the Antiquary ,vol. i. 
p. 225. 

Note 27, p. 221. — It is known that a dead 
body floats at its decomposition. 



Notfs to Bomesttc ^ittes. 



Note 1 p. 222. — See Moore's account o^ 
these pieces. 

Note 2, p. 223. — Suggested by actual inci- 
dents. 

Note 3, p. 224. — Written just before his 
last departure from England, his sister having 
been attending upon him. 

Note 4, p 224-.— There is a life in 



which bespeaks the uneasy state of Lord By- 
ron whilst at the Diodati (Coiigny). 

Note 6, p. 225. — An allusion to the re- 
markable casualties which always befel .Ad- 
miral Bvron. 

Note 6, p. 226 — The water which adoma 
"'rounds at ^^ewsiead. 

7, p. 226. — See note anit. 



DON JUAN. 



537 



'Kom to (Occasional pieces. 



Note fl, p 239. — Alluding to a boyish in- 
Bcription at Harrow. 

Note 8, p. 234.— The skull of which this 
drinking cup was made had been dug up in 
the grounds at Newstead. 

Note 9, p. 235. — Suggested by the first 
sight of the child of Mrs. Musters. 

Note 10, p. 235. — The monument exists to 
this day. The inscription runs thus— 
" Near this spot 
Are deposited the Remains of one 
Who possessed Beauty without Vanity, 
Strength without Insolence, 
Coui-age without Ferocity, 
And all the Virtues of Man without his Vices. 
This Praise, which would be unmeaning 
Flattery 
If inscribed over human ashes, 
Is but a just tribute to the memory of 
BOATSWAIN, a Dog. 
Who was born at Newfoundland, Mav, 1803, 
And died at Newstead Abbev, Nov. 18, 1808." 
Note 12, p. .'>39.— In Albania. 
Note 13, p. 241.— The Greek scholar will 
readily construe this phrase. The Roman in 
many instances differs but little from classical 
Greek. 

Note 14, p. 241. — Tender messages are in- 
variably U-ansferred by symbols in the East, 
Tor the women are jealously precluded from 
the knowledge of caligraphy. 

Note 15, p. 241. — Constantinople. 
Note 17, p. 242. — This is a very accurate 
translation of the fine song of Riga, one of 
the heroes of Grecian independence. 
Note 18, p. 242. — See note ante. 
Note 19, p. 242. — Refer to an account of the 
Career of Riga. He was a native of Thessaly. 
Note 20, p. 242. — Adopted from a popular 
song amongst the Greek women. 

Note 21, p. 242. — National songs and popu- 
lar works of amusemeut throw no email light 



on the manners of a people : they arc mate- 
rials vrhich most travellers have within then 
reach, but which they almost always disdain 
to collect. — George Ellis. 

Note 23, p. 248. — An allusion to an aneo- 
dote concerning the Princess Charlotte. 

Note 24, p. 219. — The lines in the monu. 
ment of Thompson. 

Note 25, p. 249. — For the re-opening oi 
Drury Lane Theatre, 

Note 26, p, 249. — An allusion to the aspect 
of the fire, from Westminster Bridge. 

Note 29, p. 250. — " The sequel of a tem- 
porary liason, formed by Lord Byron during 
his gay but brief career in London, occasioned 
the composition of this Impromptu. On the 
cessation of the connection, the fair one, ac- 
tuated by jealousy, called one morning at her 
quondam lover's apartmeHts. His lordship 
was from home ; but finding 'Valhek ' on ihes 
table, the lady wrote in the first page of the 
volume the words ' Remember me !' Byroa 
immediately wrote under the ominous warning 
these two stanzas." — Medwin. 

Note 30, p. 253. — He was killed in Am©- 
rica in 1814. 

Note 31, p. 258. — Presented to Power and 
published with music. 

Note 32, p. 259.— See Rev. vii., 6, 10, 11 

Note 33, p. 259. — An allusion to the re 
ported desecration of the body of Murat after 
its interment. 

Note 34, p. 260. — The scene which accom 
panied the last sentence (for such it was) ia 
Napoleon. 

Note 35, p. 260. — Instances of extraordi. 
nary heroism related of the contending armies 
in the Netherlands- 

Note 36, p. 261.— The French national 
colours. 

Note 37, p. 264-— Geneva, Feroej Cope^ 
Lausaune. 



Notes to ODfjtllJe l^arolU. 



NoTB 1, p. 277.— Beattie. 

Note 2, p. 277,— Lady Charlotte Harley. 



Note 3, p. 278.— "Peri," « 8np«rn*rtWil 
and perfect being. 



538 



NOTES. 



Note 4, p. 278. — The gazelle is remarkable 
;or the beauty of its eye, and the comparison 
is held as highly complimentary in the Land 
of Hyperbole — the East. 

Note 5, p. 278. — Castri is a small village 
which is situated about the locality of the an- 
cient Delphi. 

Note 6, p. 279. — An allusion to the inclina- 
tion which Byron has more than once recorded 
of visiiiiig India. 

Note 7, p. 280. — His name was Rushton- 
he was the son of a tenant on the Author's 
estate. 

Note 8, p. 280.— He was sent back to En- 
gland owing to his fretting. 

Note 9, p. 280. — Fletcher remained in the 
constant service of Lord Byron until his death 
at Missolonghi. 

Nvite 10, p. 280. — Lisbon itself is not only 
far from an agreeable place, but it is always 
exceedingly loathsome and dirty ; but Cintra 
the subin-ban retreat of the court, is perhaps, 
one Oi' th'? most delicious spots in Europe. 

Note 11, p. 280.— The convent of " Nassa 
Senora de Pena." 

Note 12, p. 281 — An allusion to the un- 
punished assassinations which were daily per- 
petrated at Li.sbon, and of which many 
Englishmen were the unprotected victims. 

Note 13, p. 281 — On this subject, see 
Napier's History cf the Peninsular War. 
Lord Byron's account is certainly not so ac- 
curate as it should have been : (thus seriously 
advanced.) 

Note 14, p. 282. — ^Her insanity was a matter 
of later date. 

Note 15, p. 283. — There is an eloquent 
account which will illustrate this passage in 
Gimbon's Decline and Fall. But the esca- 
pade of Count Julian's daughter is otherwise 
pretty generally known 

Note 16, p. 284. — A Moorish instrument 
with two strings. 

Note 17, p. 284. — An allusion to the bur- 
then of the Spanish popular songs. 

Note 18, p. 284. — The national cockade ; it 
was red. 

Note 19, p. 285. — An allusion to the ap- 
pearance of the mountain passes, which at 
that time everywhere furmshed evidence of 
war. The batteries and their eonical piles of 
shot were met with on all hands. 

Note 20, p. 285. — The story of the heroine of 
Saragossa is well known. 

Note 21, p. 285. — These lines wore not pro- 
perly a portion of the context 



Note 22, p. 286.— See last note. 

Note 23, p. 287.— See last notes. 

Note 24, p. 287. — The denizens of Londo« 
will generally understand the allusion to "being 
sworn in at Highgate." 

Note 25, p. 287.— A method of vauhing, 
which forms part of the gymnastic exercises. 

Note 26, p. 288. — The picture is admirable, 
and all who have witnessed the scene A'ill 
acknowledge that it is to the life. 

Note 27, p. 289. — An allusion to Solano, 
as governor of Cadiz. 

Note 28, p 289. — The memorable reply 
transmitted to the French Commander by tho 
defender ol Saraeossa. 

Note 29, p. 290.— See note ante. 

Noie 30, p. 290. — A portion of the citadel 
was Diown up by a magazine, which took 
fire. 

Note 31, p. 291. — \ classical allusion. 
Refer to the " Antiquities of Greece." 

Note 32, p. 291. — The ruiua of the templa 
of Jupiter. 

Note 33, p. 291. — Wrecked in the Greciaa 
Archipelago. 

Note 34, p. 293.— "The identity of the 
habitation assigned by poets to the nymph 
Calypso, has occasioned much discussion and 
variety of opinion. Some place it at Malta, 
and some at Goza." — Hoare's Classical 
Tour. 

Note 35, p. 294. — Lord Byron does him. 
self an iujustice by the supposition. 

Note 36, p. 294.— Sec last note. 

Note 37, p. 294. — Ithaca of the ancients. 

Note 38, p. 294 — The modern name is 
Santa Maura — the ancient Leucadia, illus- 
trated by the supposed suicide of Sappho. 

Note 39. p. 295.— The Battle of Lepanto 
was one of the great actions which sig:ialise<l 
the spreading power of the Turks. Cervantes 
served on the side of the Christian allies, 
and was crippled for life in this sanguinary 
contest. 

Note 40, p 295. — An allusion to the re. 
tinue of Anthony before Actium. 

Note 41 , p. 295. — Nicopoiis is not very 
near Actium. 

Note 42, p. 295. — The locality is not a-s- 
certained. 

Note 43, p. 295.— The well known Ali 
Pacha. 

Note 44, p. 295 — The heroic defence ol 
Suli, against assailants six times as numerous, 
is here referred to. 

Note 45, p. 295. — Zitza, not very far lioa 



NOTES. 



539 



Yanina. There is a convent at this place, 
which is a mere village, and the site is re- 
markablv beautiful. 

Note 46, p. 296.— Monks. 
Note 47, p. 296. — There are evidences of 
volcanic action in the Chiinariot Range. 

Note 48, p, 296. — Kalamas is the modern 
aanie oi" ihe more classic Acheron. 

Noie 49, p. 296. — The mantle peculiar to 
Ihe Albanian. 

Note 50, p. 296.— The ancient Tomarus. 
Note 61, p. 296. — The Laos is no con- 
temptible stream when at its height, but its 
vi'-alers are periodical. 

Note 52, p. 297. — " On our arrival at 
Tepaleen, we were lodged in the palace. 
During the night, we were disturbed by the 
perpetual carousal which seemed to be kept 
up in the gallery, and by the drum, and the 
voice of the ' Muezzin,' or chanter, calling 
the Turks to prayers from the minaret or 
the mosck attached to the palace." — Hob- 
house 

Note 53, p. 297.—" We were a little un- 
foriunate in the time we chose for travelling, 
for it was during the Ramazan, or Turkish 
Lent, which fell this year in October, and 
was hailed at the rising of the new moon, 
and on the evening of the eighth, by every 
demonstration of joy: but although, during 
this month, the strictest abstinence is ob- 
served in the daytime, yet with the setting 
of the sun the feasting commences." — Hob- 

HOUSE 

Note 5-1, p. 297. — Ali Pacha's assassina- 
tion gave the appearance of prophecy to ' the 
poetical rhapsody of the author. 

Note 55, p. 297. — The spoilers of wTecks, 
whose inhumanities were not uncommon in 
the extreme west of England. 

Note 56, p. 298. — An allusion to the lax 
observance of the Mohammedan restric- 
tions. 

Note 57, p. 298. — A soldier — this is a ge- 
neral expression in the Romaic dialect. 

Note 58, p. 298— The description of a 
ficene which actually took place, and which 
has been very gi'aphically portrayed by 
Hobhouse. 

Note 59, p. 298.— The Romaic term for 
drummer. 

Note 60, p. 299.— Taken from the French 
by assault 

Note 61, p. 299.— The epithet applied to 
the Russians. 

Note 62, p. 299.— Infidel. 



Note 63, p. 299.— The sjrmbols of the 

Pacha. 
Note 64, p. 299. — See note ante. 
Note 65, p. 299. — Swordsman, or Sword- 
oearer. 

Note 66, p. 299.— There are yet trices of 
the ancient buildings oa the site of Phyle, 
which overlooks Athens. 

Note 67, p. 299. — The Latin conquest and 
occupation. 

Note 68, p. 299.— The two Holy citie-s 
have been occupied by a sect which is be- 
coming numerous, called the Wahabees. 

Note 69, p. 300. — Although the snow but 
rarely lays in the plains, even in the depth of 
winter, it is always to be distinguished 
throughout the year on the summits of the 
most elevated mountains. 

Note 70, p. 300.— Mount Mendili, (the 
ancient Pentelicus), which still retains the 
indelible mark of having supplied the ma- 
terial for the most beautiful structures of 
Athens. 

Note 71, p. 304. — A word especially used for 
technical description in Falconry; it is there- 
fore not only applied with gi-eat beauty, but 
with as correct an accuracy. 

Note 72, p. 304. — Alcseus's teautiful ode 
to Harmodius and Aristogiton. 

Note 73, p. 304. — An allusion to the great 
ball at Brussels. 

Note 74, p. 304.~The Duke of Brans- 
wick, whose father had fallen at Jena. 
Note 75, p. 305. — Sir Evan Cameron. 
Note 76, p. 305. — The general term is ap- 
plied to the forest of Soignies, which at this 
time occupied the whole country between 
Brussels and Waterloo. 

Note 77, p. 305. — The spot which, even 
to this day, may be indicated by some ol 
the omniscient guides, who, according to their 
own accounts, must have been acquainted 
with every officer, and many private soldiers, 
who fought on that day, and with all their 
doings. 

Note 78, p. 306.— An allusion to the fa- 
bulous fruit on the shores of the Lake As- 
phaltes. 

Note 79, p. 307.— Alluding to the old bal- 
lads. 

Note 80, p. 308. — Modern tourists are so 
very numerous, that Drachenfels is now as 
well known as the Tower of London, and 
you might gather a full description of ft 9i 
" Joe's." 

Note 81, p. 309. — Marceau's monument 



540 



NOTES. 



Note 82, p. 309.— Ehienbreitstein, (see 
note 80). 

Note 83, p. 309. — These memorials no 
longer exist in their pristine integrity, thanks 
{r the humiliation of the French .soldiery. 

Note 84, p. 310. — The ancient Aventicum, 
,Capilal of Roman Helvetia), now Aven- 
ches. 

Note 85. p. 310. — Aulus Caecina, and Julia 
Alpinula. 

Note 86, p. 310. — An allusion to the daz- 
zling brilliancy of the white heads of Mont 
Blanc and Mont Argentiere. even from Ge- 
neva, and to the magnificent eifect of the re- 



flection which is constantly to be seen in th« 

calm lake. 

Note 87, p. 310. — Alluding to the remark, 
ably deep and beautiful colour of the water. 

Note 88. p. 311. — Rousseau's passion for the 
Comtesse D' Houdilot 

Note 89, p. 313. — The magnificence of % 
thunderstorm over the Lake of Geneva, can 
only be conceived by those who have seen it, 
or who can appreciate the vigorous descrip- 
tion of Lord Byron. 

Note 90, p. 314. — Voltaire and Gibbon. 

Note 91, p. 315. — Alluding to a syllogism 
of La RuchefoucaulL 



Notes to Bon ^mxu 



Note 1, p. 316. — There can have been 
very little reason in the supposition of this 
dedication. It as certainly deserves insertion 
as any stanzas in the poems. 

Note 2, p. 317. — The colours (blue and 
bufi") adopted by the Whigs, and, in con- 
formity, by the Edinburgh Review. 

Note 3, p. 317. — The Emperor Julian. 

Note 4, p. 318. — Don Juan is a very pre 
Tailing hero of Plays and Romances, and 
alwaj's in the character of a reckless libertine. 

Note 6, p, 318. — The same General Vernon, 
whose capture of Porto-Bello, " with six ships 
€7ili/," was commemorated by a medal to this 
efi"ect. 

Note 6, p. 318.— The hero (.') of the con- 
vention of Closter Seven. 

Note 7, p. 318. — Wolfe, who conquered, 
and fell at Quebec. 

Note 8, p. 318. — Lord Hawke, the most 
successful admind of his time. 

Note 9, p. 318. — The Duke of Brunswick, 
celebrated for his military successes ; Minden 
amongst others. 

■ Note 10, p. 318.— The son of the Duke of 
lluiland, who achieved some military repu- 
tation. 

Note 11, p. 318. — A general and author, 
who was n(;t without distinction in both 
?apacitie!i. 

Note 12, p. 318.— Son of Lord Albemarle. 
Ha held high naval command, but was not 
very successful. 
Note 13, p. 318. — Iiord Howe, of glorious 



memory amongst British seamen, for having 
achieved the most empty victory that ever 
was laughed at by a vanquished enemy. 

Note 14, p. 318. — Barnave, well known for 
his zeal in the Revolution of 1789. 

Note 15, p. 318. — Brissot de Varville, who 
was similarly distinguished. 

Note 16, p. 318. — Condorcet, an able wri- 
ter, and also amongst the partisans of the 
new era. 

Note 17, p 318. — Mirabean, the most im- 
petuous and eloquent inciter of the Revolu- 
tion. 

Note 18, p. 318. — Petion,also actively en- 
gaged in that fearful outbreak. 

Note 19, p. 318. — Jean Baptiste, (Ana^ 
charsis Clootz.) see former notes. 

Note 20, p. 318. — Danton, sc^ former notes. 
Note 21, p. 318. — One of those who were 
signalized in the gi-eatest atrocities of the 
Revolution. 

Note 22, p. 318. — The survivor of all the 
worthies here mentioned. 

Note 23, p. 318. — Joubert whose military 
career has established him as no inferior sol- 
dier or commander. 

Note 24. p 318. — Hoche, who commanded 
the fruitless expedition destined for the Coast 
of Ireland, and afterwards the army of the 
Sambre and Meuse. 

Note 25, p. 318. — Marceau, whose first 
distinguishing service was in La Vendee; 
see note ante. 

Note 26, p. 318. — Lannes, who figured in 



NOTES. 



541 



Ae military annals of France before and 

under Napoleon. 

Noto 27, p. 318. — Desaix, already distin- 
g'li.shcd at Malta and in Egypt, was killed at 
Marengo ; a moniunent has been erected to 
hi)ii at ihe Ho-pice St. Bernard. 

Note 28, p. 318. — Signalized by many ser- 
vices in the French ranks, but afterwards 
engaged with the allies. 

Note 29, p. 318. — Alluding to the prevail- 
ing beauty, symmetry, and elegant attire of 
the women of Seville 

Note 30, p. 319. — An allusion to Professor 
Feinagle, (a Geiraan.) 

Note 31, p. 319.— Alluding to the death 
of Lady llomilly and the suicide of Sir 
Samuel. 

Note 32, p. 326.— Ovid's Art of Love, b. ii. 
Note 33, p. 326.— See Gertrude of Wy- 
oming, part iii. stanza 1. 

Note 34, p. 326. — Almsgava(Boscan,) who 
was the inUoducer of Italian versification in 
Spain. 

Note 35, p. 326. — Garcilassa de la Vega, 
signalized by his military services, as well as 
by his literary productions. 

Note 36. p. 331. — " Cortcgo," synonymous 
viih ■■ Caralirro Scrvante." 

Note 37, p. 331. — A piece of irony; Donna 
Juiia is Ucie niaae to suggest the contrary to 
her assertion. 

Note 38, p. 336.— Suggested by one of the 
author's own seals. 

Note 39, p. 338.— The legend of Bacon's 
Brazen Head. 

Note 40, p. 338. — This portion -was com- 
pleted in little more than a month. 

Note 41, p. 339. — The particular veils then 
W.v.d. 

N .te 42, p. 340.— See Dr. Granville's and 
Dr. Kitchener's Recipes. 

Note 43, p. 3.52.— An allusion to " the 
Ji^iirrative of the Honourable John Byron, 
(Commodore in a late expedition round" the 
world,) &c. &c. 

Nolo 44, p. 3o2. — Dr. Franklin's Essay 
m the Economy of Early Rising. 

Nt>te 45, p. 352. — The plan of going to 
oed early, and rising betimes, has been called 
the golden rule for the attainment of health 
arid long life. It is sanctioned by various 
proverbial expressions ; and when old people 
have been examined, regarding the causes of 
their long life, they uniformly agreed in one 
particular, — that they went to bed early, and 
cose early. — Si& Johk Sinclaib. 



Note 46, p. 352.— The name of the Red Sea 
attributed by Bruce to the vast shoals of coral 
which existed along the bottom. 

Note 47, p. 300. — There was an interval in 
the progress of " Don Juan," owing to tho 
abuse which had been heaped upon the por- 
tions which first appeared. 

Note 48, p. 360.— Tianslated from a diciui» 
of Montaigne, the French philoso]ilier. 
_ Note 49, p. 3<30.— There is a similar aHu- 
sion in Shakspeare. 

Note 50, p. 360.— The term applied by 
Dante to his wife in the " Divina Comedia" — 
" la fiera moglie." 

Note 51 , ]). 360.— An allusion to the flight 
of Milton's first wife. 

Note 52, p. 361.— The luckless marriages 
of great poets appear to prevail. Take the 
examples of Dante, Milton and Dryden; 
many others might be appended to the melan- 
choly list. 

Note 53, p. 362.— "This dance is still 
performed by young men armed cap-a-pie, 
who execute, to the sound of instruments, all 
the proper movements of attack and defence." 
— Dr, E. Cl.\eke. 

Note 54, p. 362. — " Their manner of dane- 
ing is certaiidy the same that Diana is sung ■ 
to have danced on the banks of Eurotas. 
The great lady still leads the dance, and is 
followed by a troop of young girls, who imi- 
tate her steps, and if she sings, make up the 
chorus. The tunes are extremely gay and 
lively, yet with something in them wonderfully 
solt. The steps are varied according to the 
pleasure^ of her that leads the dance, but 
always in exact time, and infinitely more 
agreeable than any of our dances."— Lady 
M. W. Montagu. 

Note 55, p. 360.- The badge of Royalty 
amongst the women. 

Note 56, p. 366.— Lord Byron somewhere 
cites instances in corroboration of his de- 
scription. 

Note 57, p. 367. — Alluding to a preparation 
with which the eyelids of the women are dyed. 
Note .58, p. 868— Homer. 
Note 59, p. 368.— Anacreon. 
Note 60, p. 372. — Alluding to the ancient 
fable concerning \chilles. 

Note 61 p. 3 3 — Refer to the account 
given by Herodotis. 

Note 62, p. 383. -See Toukne fort's de- 
scription of the Slave Market, &c. 

Note 62*. p. .'^SV-Correctlv related, 8©a 
Thountcn's TuvkaJr vol. ii. p. 289 



542 



NOTES. 



Note 63, p. 383. — The comparison is greatly 
in favour of the Bosphoriis. 

Note 64, p. 383. — A favourite resort on the 
Asiatic side of the strait. 

Note 65, p. 3S5. — In Bulgaria on the 
Danube. 

Njte 66, p. 336.— See De Pouqueville's 
eccount, although in general no great reliance 
is to be placed upon him. 

Note 67, p. 386.— A " zecchino " (Turkish 
nio:iey) is a gold coin — a " para," copper. 

Note 68, p. 386. — Alluding to an incident 
which came immediately under Lord Byron's 
observation. 

Note69,p.387 — The boats atConstantinopIe. 
• Note 70, p. 387.— Alluding to the tradi- 
tional fate of St. Bartholomew. 

N;)te 71, p. 388. — An allusion to the pre- 
valence of dram-drinking amongst the Turks. 

Ncjte 72, p. 388. — Described from actual 
observation. 

Note 73, p. 393.— Adapting a piece of 
technical and oratorical phraseology. 

Note 74, p. 392. — See note ante. 

Note 75, p. 393 — The idea that pure de 
scent is traceable in the hands. 

Note 76, p. 398.— The state prison of Con- 
stantinople, in which the Porte shuts up tlie 
minirsters of hostile powers who are dilatory 
in taking their departure, under pretence of 
proiecting them from the insults of the mob. 
—Hope. 

Note 77, p. 398. — Allusion to the dictum 
of the daughter of .\chmet III. 

Note 78, p. 399. — Odessa is a very inter 
esting place; and being the seat of govern 
ment, and the only quarantine allowed except 
Caff.i and Taganrog, is, though of very recent 
erection, already wealthy and flourishing. Too 
much praise cannot be given to the Duke of 
Richelieu, to whose administration, not to 
any natural advantages, this town owes its 
proiperity. — Bishop Heber. 

Note, 79, p. 399. — Alluding to the suicide 
of Lord Londonderry (Castlereagh). 

Note 80, p. 399. — There is a bitter truth 
in this passage. 

Note 81, p. 399. — A tribute of deserved 
esteem was paid to Canning in his exception 
from the category. 

Note 82, p. 400. — Bishop Warburton's well- 
known definition of orthodoxy. 

Note 83, p. 400.— See Julius Csesar (SLak- 
pere) act. iv. sc. iii. 

Note 84, p. 400. — A fanatical sectarian, ad- 
mired ia Qermaa/, 



Note 85, p. 40 L — Saracen's Head at Ware. 

Note 86, p. 401. — "The blessed Francis, 
being strongly solicited one day by the emo- 
tions of ihe flesh, pulled o£F his clothes and 
scourged himself soundly ; being after this in- 
flamed with a wonderful fervour of mind hs 
plunged his naked body into a great heap ol 
snow. The devil, being overcome, retired 
immediately, and the holy man returned vic- 
torious into his cell." — See Butler's Livea 
of the Saints. 

Note 87, p. 402. — A satire on the fulsorae- 
ness of the partisans of Queen Charlotte. 

Note 88, p. 402. — Alluding to a passage ol 
Suetonius respecting Caligula. 

Note 89, p. 403. — The women of the Harem. 

Note 90, p. 403. — Cantimir, known by his 
" History of the Ottoman Empire." 

Note 91, p. 403. — " Memoirs of the Turkish 
Empire." 

Note 92, p. 403. — " It is in the adjacent 
climates of Georgia, MingreUa, and Circassia, 
that nature has placed, at least to our eyej 
the model of beauty, in the shape of the limbs 
the colour of the skin, the symmetry of the 
features, and the expression of the counte- 
nance: the men are formed for action, the 
women for love." — Gibbon. 

Note 93, p. 403. — The grand Signior. 

Note 94, p. 404. — The name of one of the 
girls at the house which Lord Byron occupied 
at Athens. 

Note 95, p. 404. — See Morier's descrip- 
tion of a Georgian model beauty. 

Note 96, p. 405. — A mixed metal. 

Note 97, p. 407. — Quizzing, the language 
of one of Queen Charlotte's counsel. 

Note 98, p. 412. — Casemate is a work 
made under the rampart, like a cellar or cave, 
with loopholes to place guns in it, and is 
bomb-proof. — Milit. Diet. 

Note 99, p. 412. — When the breastwork 
of a battery is only of .such height that the 
guns may lire over it without being obliged to 
make embrasures, the guns ai'e said to fire in 
barbet. — Ibid. 

Note 100, p. 414— See note ante. The 
word means ''maniac." 

Note 101. p. 416. — On historical record. 

Note 102, p. 420. — The Moslem battle-cry. 

Note 103, p. 421 — An allusion to the mis- 
nomers which appear in the Gazettes. 

Note 104, p. 422. — Unexaggerated. 

Note 105, p. 422. — The well-known pr* 
verb indigenous to Portugal, that 

•' Hell is paved with good intentions.' 



NOTES. 



543 



Note 106, p. 423.— Alluding to the alleged 
discovery of the use of powder. 

Note 107, p. 424. — Talus, the slope or in- 
clination of a wall, whereby, reclining at the 
top so as to fall within its base, the thickness 
is gradaally lessened according to the height.— 
Milit. Diet. 

Note 108, p. 424. — It has been a favourite 
assertion with almost all the French, and some 
English writers, that the English were on 
the point of being defeated, when the Prussian 
force came up. The contrary is the truth. 
Baron Muffling has given the most explicit 
testimony, "that the battle could have afforded 
no favourable result to the enemy, even if the 
Prussians had never come up." The laurels 
of Waterloo mu-^tbe divided — the British won 
the battle, the Prussians achieved and ren- 
dered available the victory. — Sir Walter 
Scott. 

Note 109, p. 427. — A " cavalier" is an 
elevation of earth, situated ordinarily in the 
goige of a bastion, bordered with a parapet^ 
and cut into more or fewer embrasii'/ss, accord- 
ing to its capacity.' — Mllit. Diet. 

Note 110, p. 429. — One of the orders or 
knighthood in Russia. 

Note 111, p. 430. — See Voltaire'.s account. 

Note 112, p. 436.— "A kind of madness, 
in which men have the qualities of wild 
beasts." — Todd 

Note 113, p. 437. — Alluding to the manner 
of his death. 

Note 114, p. 438. — A crystal, so called 
from the spot where it is found in the North 
of Scotland. 

Note 115, p. 438. — The especial favourite 
of the Euipress Catherine. 

Note 116, p. 438.— Written previously to 
his suicide. 

Note 117, p. 439. — Alluding to the cha- 
racteristic brevity of Suwarrow. 

Note 118, p. 441. — The number of serfs 
constitutes the value of an estate. 

Note 119, p. 442. — An allusion to the fall 
of Newt:)n's auple tree. 

Note 120, p. 443. — The word is used in this 
sense on Scott's authority. 

Nf)te 121, p. 443. — A question as to or- 
thography. 

Note 122, p. 444. — Alluding to his early 
recollections of Scotland. 

Note 123. p. 4-i4 — See the History of 
Rome. .Tiberius Gracchus, as Tribune. 

Note 124, p. 445. — The term is correctly 
applied to land. 



Note 125, p. 447. — .\lIudingto the favoo. 

rite of the Empress Anne. 

Note 120, p. 448. — The words of Napoleon. 

Note 127, p. 44S. — Kant, the originator of 
a school of philosophy. 

Note 128, p. 448.— The Legend of St. Ur- 
sula. 

Note 129, p. 449. — Refemng to the monu- 
ment of the Prince. 

Note 130, p. 449. — Becket's assassinatioa 
in the Chapel of St. Benedict, in Canterbury 
Cathedral. 

Note 131, p. 450. — The Indies. America. 

Note 132, p. 450. — See the hypothe.sis o» 
the Bishop of Cloyne, in " The Principles of 
Human Knowledge." 

Note 133, p. 452.- A thief of the /ower 
order, who, when he is breeched by a course 
of successful depredation, dresses in the ex- 
treme of vulgar gentility, and affects a know 
ingness in his air and conversation, which 
renders him in reality an object of ridicule.^ 
Vaitx. 

Note 134, p. 452. — Any well-dressed per- 
son is emphatically called a swell, or a real 
swell. — P. Egan. 

Note 135, p. 452. — A fellow who affects 
any particular habit, as swearing, dressing in 
a particular maimer, taking snuff, &c., merely 
to be noticed, is said to do it out of Jiash.^' 
Ibid. 

Note 136, p. 452. — The resort of thieves. 

Note 137, p. 452. — The playhouse. 

Note 188, p. 452. — To humbug a tool. 

Note 139, p. 452. — Highway robbery on 
horseback. 

Note 140, p. 452. — Sport, amusement. 

Note 141, p. 452. — A loose woman who at- 
tends a thief. 

Note 142, p. 452. — Gentlemanly. 

Note 143. p. 452. — To admire, to be fond of. 

Note 144, p. 453. — A kind of medicated 
malt liquor, in which wormwood and arornalics 
are infused. — Todd. 

Note 145, p. 453. — The general use of gas 
in the streets of London dates from 1812. 

Note 146, p, 453. — The common term foj 
gaming-houses. 

Note 147, p. 455. — "Respecting." The 
word '■ anent" is Scotch, 

Note 148, p, 455. — .\ term applied to young 
ladies who dress up to become marriageable. 

Note 149, p. 457. — Ghost or goblin. 

Note 150, p. 458. — The tale told of George 
II. concerning the will of his father. 

Note 151. p. 459. — The Congress of Verona 



544 



NOTES. 



Note 153, p. 459.— The tliree cantos, XII. 

XIII. and XIV. appeared at one time. 

Noic 154, p. 4t31. — See any phrenological 
productions. 

Note 155, p. 467. — The second Lord Grey. 

Note 156, p. 467. — Alluding to the merao- 
ffable close of Lord Chatham's life and politi- 
cal career. 

Note 157, p. 468.— See "Faust" of Goethe. 

Note ]5S, p. 472. — A transposition. 

Note 159, p. 473. — The armorial bearings 
of the religious establishment of Newsteadare 
yet preserved in one of the windows. 

Note 160, p. 474. — Salvator Kosa, tne cele- 
brated painter. 

Note 161, p. 475. — In Assyria. 

Note 162, p. 476. — Siria; there is a star 
called Sirius. 

Note 163, p. 476. — Curran and Erskine. 

Note 164, p. 482. — A favourite national 
dance in Spain. 

Note 165, p. 482. — Guido's most celebrated 
W^ is 4be f <ilac«8 of Eom^ is his ixesco of 



the Aurora, in the Palazzo RospigliosL*^ 
Bryant. 

Note 166, p. 486. — A small carrion bird-* 
and an allusion to the Emperor Alexaixler. 

Note 167, p. 486.— i'he Royal Palace ^ 
Bri-ghton. 

Note 168, p. 488.— The two Cantos, XV. 
and XVI. , appeared at one time. 

Note 169, p 490. — The celebrated pictura^, 
byRapiiael, represents the " TransfiguraLion." 

Note 170, p. 496.— The negative omitted. 

Note 171, p. 497. — The boiling spring in 
Iceland, so generally known. 

Note 172, p. 498. — Alluding to the coiv 
troversy on the subject of the celebrated Ty- 
rian purple. 

Note 173, p. 501. — Lord Byron once iraai 
gined he saw the ghost of a monk at New. 
stead. 

Note 175, p. 603. — A master-piece. 

Note 176, p. 509. — An allusion to Schroep' 
fer's apparitioa to f riace Charles of &^iQU^ 



LOVE'S LABOR'S LOST 

by many a woman who strives to please her household and works 
herself to death, in the effort. If the house does not look as bright aa 
a pm, she gets the blame — if things are upturned while house-cleaning 
goes on — why, blame her again. One remedy is within her reach. If 
she uses Sapolio everything will look clean, and the reign of house- 
cleaning disorder will be quickly over. 10c. at all grocers. 

THE CELEBRATED 



PIAKOS, 



SOBMER 



PfflOS. 



ARE PREFEREED BY LEADING ARTISTS. 

The demands now made by an educated musical public are so exacting that 
very few Piauo-Forte Manufacturers can produce Instruments that will stand 
the test which merit requires. SOMMER & CO.^ as Manufacturers, rank 
amongst this chosen few, who are acknowledged to be makers of standard instru- 
ments. In these days, when many Manufacturers urge the low price of their 
wares rather than their superior quaUty as an inducement to purchase, it may 
not be amiss to suggest that, in a Piano, quaUty and price are too inseparably 
joined to expect the one without the other. 

Every Piano ought to be judged as to its quaUty of its tone, its touch, and its 
workmanship ; if any one of these is wanting in excellence, however good the others 
may be, the instrument will be imperfect. It is the combination of these qualities 
in the highest degree, that constitutes the perfect Piano, and it is this combina- 
tion that has given the ' 'SOH3IER>> Its honorable position with the trade and 
the pubUc. 

Highest Awards at the Centennial Exhibition, 1876 ; also Highest 

Award at Montreal, 1881 and 1882. 

SOHMEB & CO., Manufactiirers, 

149 to 156 E. 14tli St., New York, 



JAM^LES 




THS BEST 

WASHING COMPOIJNO 

EVER INVENTESa 
No Lady, Married os' 
Single, Rich or Poor, 
Housekeeping or Board- 
ing, will be "without it 
after testing its utility. 
Sold by all first-class 
Grocers, b?xt beware of 
worthless imitations* 



JUST PUBLXSH£D. 

"OUIDA'S" Last and Greatest Novel, 

WANDA, 

COUNTESS VON SZALRAS. 

By "OUIDA," 

Author of "Under Two Flags," "Moths,'' etc. 
1 ?©1., l)5mo. , Cloth, SI m. Paper Cover, 50 Cents. Al.*o in Lovell's Library. 
Kg. 112, 12mo , two parts, each 15 Ceuts. 

" The hand has lost none of its matchless cannini? There are the same 
Vivid glimpse.-*— real glimpses— of i.atnre, but ie-s abandon and piofueion; the 
same intense revelatioas of steihin:^ seas of human anjiuish, but all toned oo 
milder measures. The heart has grown richer and mellower with years, and 
there is more spirit and human iiit-ight iu 'Wanda' ihnn m scores of the Meading 
novels' of the day. It is full of touching, tender natuos, and forentertainuieut 
18 a perfect gem.'" —Philadelphia Times. 

" Is one of the gifted 'Ouida's' most brilliant efforts, and will, no doubt, be 
highly appreciated."— JV. Y. Commercial Advertiser. 

" The latest novel from the pen of the brilliant and prolific 'Ouida.' It is 
a powerful and fascinating work of fiction, deeply inier sting, wiih excellent 
character portrayal, and wriitten in that sparkling style for which 'Ouida.' is 
famous. It deserves to take rank by the side of the best of h; r previous novels, 
and will, undoubtedly, fee eagerJy sought by her many admirers."- Washington 
Post. 

" This is a Russian story, and of nnasual interest." —St. Louis Republican. 

" It is in her best style ''''-^frogrei^s. 

" The pen th It wrote 'Strathmore,' 'Signa,' etc., could produce nothing 
dull. The authoress knows how to warm the feelings and intensif/ passion; 
bL'r plots are all fascinating ai;d of absorbing interest, and 'Wanda' will be 
found to sustain the brilliant reputation of its writer." — Philadelphia Chronicle- 
Herald, 

UNIFORM WITH ABOVE. 

UNDER TWO FLAGS. 

By ''OUIDA," 

] vol., 12mo., Cloth, Gilt, $1.00. Paper Covers, 50 Cents. Also in Lovei.l's 
LiBKART, No. 127, two i)aiis, each 20 Cents. 



A IKiew Novel by the Author of "MES. GEOFFREY." 

LOYS, LORD BERESFORD. 

By The " DUCHESS " 
Author of " MoLy Bawn," " Faith and Unfaith," "Mrs. Geoffrey,'' " Portia,'- 

etc. 
I vol., 12mo., Cloth, Gilt, $1 GO. Paper Covers, 50 Cents. Also in Lovell's 
Library, No. l-.?t), 20 Cents. 
•' The same characteristics that have made all the novels of this auiboi 
BO irajnensely iKjpnIat i^ervade this last story— life, sparkle, lovely character 
sketching, richly dramatic (high comedy) situations, and the raciest kind of 
colloquial style. 

JOH\ W. LOVELL COMPANY, 

Publisheps, 14& 16 Vesey St., New Vork. 



1,0VELL'S LIBRARY ADVERTISER. 



POPULAR NO VELS RECENTLY PUBLISHED. 

Mr. William Black's New Novel, 
YOLANDEj The Story of a Daughter, 

By William Black, Author of "Shandon Bells," "A Princess of 
Thuie," "The Strange Adventuresof a Phaeton," etc.; 1 voL, 
12mo.', cloth, gilt, $1.00; 1 vol., 12mo., paper, 50 cents; also 
in Lovell's Library, No. 136, 20 cents. 



*'A thoroiiijhly pleasant, readable 
book, showing all Mr. Black's beet 
qualities as a novelist."— Paw Mall 
Gazette. 

"The novel will satisfy Mr. Black's 



numerous admirers that his right 
hand has lost none of its cunning." 
—St. James' Gazette. 

" 'Yolande' will please and interest 
manv."— Whitehall Review. 



The LADIES LINDOBES. By Mrs. Oliphant. Originally 
published in Blackwood's Magazine. 1 vol.^ 12rao. , cloth, gilt, "^^ 
"She is always readable, but never ' ' " "'' ■ '"—'-= 
PO eutertaimmc as when she lays the 
scene in Scotland. ..It is impossible 
to imagine sketches more lifelike than 
those of old Roils, the pragmatic but- 
ler .. of Miss Barbara Erskine, the 
hi"-h-spirited, punctilious, but sensi- 
ble old aunt; of Lord Rintoul, the 
weakly yet coolly pelh.-h and sensible 
young lord of the ordinary young 



laird John Erskine, and of the most 
modern of marquises, Lord Mille- 
fleurs."— /Spec^rtCor. 

" 'The Ladies Lindores' is in every 
respect excellent ...There are two 
girls at least in this book who might 
make the fortune of anv novel, being 
deliciously feminine and natural. "- 
Saturday Review. 



LOYS, LORD BERESIB'OKD, and other Tales. By the 

Author of "Phyllis," "Molly Bawn," "Mrs. Geoffrey," etc. 

1 vol., 12mo., cloth, gilt, $1.00; also in Lovell's Library, No. 

126, 1 vol., 12rao., paper cover, 20 cents. 

"That delightful writer, the author l ular. There is something good in all 

of 'Phyllis,' has given us a collection of them, and one or two are especially 

of stories which cannot f ail to be pop- I racy and piq uant."- The Academy. 

WO NEW THI]5J"Q, By W. E. Norris, Author of "Matri- 
mony," "MadeJ^.-vlseliede Mersac," etc. 1 vol., 12mo., cloth, 
gilt, $1.00; also in Lovell's Library, No. 108,20 cents. 

_ -NT — ;„ y.«a o,i/^/.^^/i£>.i TTia '* 'Ko Ncw Tiling' is bright, rcaddblc 
and clever, and in every sense of the 
wor'l a thoroughly interesting book." 
WhilekoU Review. 



'Mr. Norris has succeeded. His 
story, 'Wo New Thing,' is a very curi- 
ous one There is unmistakable 

capacity in his woi'k.'"— Spectator. 



AR'DB'N. By A. Mary F. Robinson 
Library, No. 134, 15 cents. 
"Miss Robinson must certainly be 
congratulated on having scored a suc- 
cess at the very beginning of her ca- 
reer. 'Arden' is an extremely clever 
story, and though it is one mereJy of 
every-day life yet the incidents are so 
clothed as to appear fresh and new, 
andthescenj of the hay throughout 
is invigorating and refreshing. The 
heroine, who gives her name to the 
book, is a wild, impulsive creature 
whom one cannot help liking, in sjiite 
of various weaknesses in her char- 



1 vol., 12mo., in Lovell's 



acter. Brought up in Rome, on the 
death of her father, Arden returns to 
his native village in Warwickshire, 
there to make a'cquaintance with the 
truest and fresuest country people \\8 
have ever met on paper. The story 
is simply that of Arden's life and 
marriage, but it is never wearisome 
because of the sharpness of the writ- 
ing, and we have to thank Miss Robin- 
f-on for f very good novel indeed."— 
Whitehall Revieiv. 



New York. JTOVIS 1¥. I.OVEI.I. COMPANY, 



" Dr. NeTTton has had given to him the spiritual 
sense of what people wanted* and this he has rev- 
erently, clearly and definitely furnished." — Boston 
EeraM, March 17. 



THE RIGHT AND WRONG 



SES OF THE BIB 



F 

uJj. 



By Rev. R. Heber Ne^/Vton. 

No. 83, **Loyell's Library," Paper Covers, 20 CEjrrs; Also 
IN Cloth, Red Edges, 75 Cents. 



" Dr. Newton has not separated his heart from his head in these 
religious skidies, and has thus been preserved from the mistakes 
which a purely critical mind might have been led." — N. Y. Times, 
March 12. 

"Those who wish to abuse Dr. Newton should do so before 
reading his lectures, as, after reading them, they may find it quito 
impossible to do so." — N. Y. SUir^ March il. 



**It is impossible to read these sermons without high admiration 
of the author's courage ; of his honesty, his reverential spirit, his 
wide and careful reading, and his true conseTvatiftm." — Amerioan 
Literary Churchman. 

For sale by all Newsdealers and Booksellers. 

JOHN W. LOVELL CO., Publishers, 

14 & 16 Vesey St., New Tork. 



OCT -0 12M 



& H Jk. Ti/L £3 2 

Sbame follows eyery neglect in life, and in neglect of clean- 
liness it comes quickly and forcibly. Contempt for the owner of 
a dirty house, a greasy kitchen, or a filthy cooking utensil is a 
contempt unrelieved by pity and unexcused by partiality. Indeed, 
there is no excuse for such things when every Grocer Bells SAPOLIO 
for scouring and cleaning, at 10c. per cake. 

THE CELEBRATED 



PIANOS. 



SOHMER 



PIASOS. 



ARE FREFERBED BY LEADING ABTISTS. 

The demands now made by an educated musical public are so exacting that 
very few Piano-Forte Manufacturers can produce Instruments that will stand 
the test which merit requires. SOHMER & CO,s as Manufacturers, rank 
amongst this chosen few, who are acknowledged to be makers of standard instru- 
ments. In these days, when many Manufacturers urge the low price of their 
wares rather than their superior quality as an inducement to purchase, it may 
not be amiss to suggest that, in a Piano, quality and price are too inseparably 
joined to expect the one without the other. 

Every Piano ought to be judged as to its quality of its tone, its touch, and its 
workmanship ; if any one of these is wanting in excellence, however good the others 
may be, the instrument will be imperfect. It is the combination of these qualities 
in the highest degree, that constitutes the perfect Piano, and it is this combina- 
tion that has given the ♦ 'SOHMER " its honorable position with the trade and 
the public. 

Highest Awards at the Centennial Exhibition, 1876 ; also Highest 

Award at Montreal, 1881 and 1882. 

SOHMER & CO., Manufacturers, 

149 to 155 E. 14tli St., New ¥ork. 




PCARLINE 



THE BEST 

WASHING COMPOUND 

EVER INVENTED. 

No Lady, Married or 
Sing^le* Rich or Poor, 
Housekeeping or Board* 
ing, will be without it 
after testing its utilitj. 

Sold by all first-clais 
Grocers* but beware ol 
worthless imitations. 







ii'Jiijiiiiniif i fiMnii ii niir i mm 



A BRIGHT HEALTHFUL SKIN AJVD COMPLEXION ENSURED B¥ USINQ 

PEARS' SOAP. 

AS RECOMMENDED BV THE GREATEST ENGLISH AUTHORITY ON THE SKIN, 

Prof. SIR ERASMUS WILSON, F.R.S., Pres. of the Royal Col. of Surgeons, 
England, and ALL other Leading Authorities on the Skin. 

CoMtlessBeanteoiisLaAies,iiicln(li]igMr8.lMeI.u^ 

AND PREFER PEAJE6S» SOAP TO ANV OTHER. - 
'Thefollowingfrom the world-renowned Songstress is asample of thousands of Testimonials. 



Testimonial from Madame ADXXINA PATTI. 
"\ HAVE FOUND fTMATCHLESS FOR ^ 
i THE HANDS AND COMPLEXION" ^SL,.^C€^4^ 

ettrs* 8oapi9tor8a.le throngb' i^ 
' the avilizea WorM, 



^TZZ>, 



if^iifh 



^^^ 



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